


Just This Once, There Could Be A Happy Ending

by ButtKickingForGoodness



Category: King Falls AM (Podcast), The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Ableism, Aftermath of Violence, Angst, Canon Asexual Character, Canon-Typical Bad Decisions, Coercion, Compulsion, Diverges after TMA 156, Dubiously Consensual Drug Use, F/F, F/M, Fake Science, Gore, Gun Violence, Heavy Angst, How did I forget the Angst tag, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Kidnapping, M/M, Minor Character Death, Natural Disasters, Nausea, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Panic Attacks, Peter Lukas is a Creepy Bastard, Rabid Animals, Suicidal Ideation, Supernatural violence, The KFAM/TMA crossover nobody asked for, Threats of Violence, Torture, Unreliable Narrator, Was never fully compliant with KFAM but is definitely set during phase two, Whump, jon has feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-02
Updated: 2020-04-02
Packaged: 2020-11-10 16:51:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 27
Words: 49,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20855096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ButtKickingForGoodness/pseuds/ButtKickingForGoodness
Summary: Ben shuffles into the kitchen, blearily rubbing the last remnants of sleep from his eyes, when something catches his attention. There's a note pinned to the center of the refrigerator.  It hadn’t been there yesterday.On the other side of the ocean, Martin settles back at his desk, wiping the top off after a quick lunch when the phone rings. Slowly, he reaches out and picks up the receiver.“Hello? You’ve reached the office of the head of the Magnus Institute, how can I help you?”





	1. Telephone

**Author's Note:**

> Contrary to what the title may imply, I swear I will do my best to give this story a happy ending. I haven't written it yet, so I won't give a guarantee, but I am absolutely going to try. This story has been eating away at me and so I think it's just best to let it out. 
> 
> Updates Sunday evenings. I'm going to try to stick to a weekly schedule, but it will probably shift to biweekly as the season picks up.
> 
> Title from "Justice" by The Mechanisms

Ben shuffles into the kitchen, blearily rubbing the last remnants of sleep from his eyes, when something catches his attention. There's a note pinned to the center of the refrigerator. It hadn’t been there yesterday. Frowning, he reaches up and pulls it off the fridge. It’s not really a note, per se, more like a handwritten business card. _The Magnus Institute_, it reads, with a phone number scrawled in pen beneath it.

“Sammy?” Ben calls. “Did you leave this note on the fridge?”

Sammy emerges from his room, already dressed and displaying what Ben considers and unfortunately high level of functionality for the time of day.

“The card?” Sammy asks. “Yeah. Lily gave it to me. It’s… it’s her last lead on Jack.”

Any remaining fatigue disappears as Ben’s eyes snap back to the card. “What did she say about it?”

Sighing, Sammy pours himself a mug of coffee before settling by the kitchen counter. Ben eyes the coffee but decides to wait, giving Sammy space.

“It was Jack’s,” Sammy begins. His voice has gone soft, the way it usually does when he talks about Jack, but there’s a new note of apprehension to it that Ben doesn't like. “He told Lily about it just before he- just before Debbie took him. Said it came from their father. Lily called the number, but all she got was a smug, evasive English bureaucrat. When she tried to follow up, things started going… wrong. The police stepped in, and she had to turn in the card. It showed up in her mailbox yesterday morning, and she passed it on to us.” Sammy pauses to take a sip of his coffee, and Ben takes the opportunity to nudge in.

“I’ve never heard Lily mention their father,” he says cautiously, and Sammy nods.

“They never met him. He and their mother were never married, and she came to the United States before they were born. Neither Lily nor Jack ever knew anything about him, other than to stay far away if he ever found them.”

Now that was interesting. Leaning forward, Ben asks, “Do you think he had anything to do with Debbie abducting Jack?”

Sammy shakes his head. “Not at the time. Lily did, though, but the police automatically discounted it. But now… I don’t see how some British guy who’s never been to the US could be connected to Debbie and the Void.”

“The man Lily spoke to?”

Sammy frowns. “Not him, he was far too young to be their father. And he had a different last name, anyway.”

Ben hums thoughtfully. “Have you called the number?”

“No, I haven’t gotten the chance.” The apprehension is back in Sammy’s voice, and Ben files that away for later.

“We should. After the show today, we should call,” he suggests.

Sammy hesitates, but Ben knows he’ll say yes. “I… okay. We’ll call. But don’t think too much of it.”

Been shoots Sammy a look. He’d usually make a point to gently argue with Sammy’s pessimism, but Sammy looks like he actually got a decent amount of sleep, so he lets the remark pass. The number must lead to something, Ben’s sure of it.

****************

Several hours later, Sammy’s sitting on a bench outside Rose’s waiting for Ben when a tall man in a heavy wool coat and sunglasses takes a seat next to him. Despite the glasses, Sammy can feel the man’s gaze settle on him like a physical weight, and he shudders.

“Can I help you?” he says, somewhat brusquely.

The man smiles. “Sammy Stevens?” he asks.

Sammy slips his hand into his pocket and palms his phone. “Yeah, that’s me. What do you want?”

The man laughs. “So standoffish,” he says. “I only wanted to say hello. I’d stay and talk, but I think there will be plenty of time for introductions later. Have a lovely chat.”

Before Sammy can respond, the man gets up and walks away. There’s something odd about his shadow, but Sammy is distracted form his observations by the sudden appearance of Ben.

“Hey man, is everything alright?” Ben asks, his brow furrowed. “Who was that guy?”

Sammy shrugs. “I don’t know, he didn’t give his name. Have you seen him before?”

Ben shakes his head slowly. “Must be new in town. He’s certainly the kind of guy you would remember.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Sammy responds, then pushes his fears away. The man may have been unsettling, but there was nothing he could do about that now. “Come on, let’s go make this call.”

****************

Martin’s settles back at his desk, wiping the top off after a quick lunch when the phone rings. Surprised, he stares at the phone and the tape recorder that has manifested next to it. The phone hasn’t rung in months, not since Peter made his preference for email explicitly clear. Slowly, he reaches out and picks up the receiver.

“Hello? You’ve reached the office of the head of the Magnus Institute, how can I help you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Stay tuned next chapter for The Dark! Which one, you ask? Well, you'll just have to come back and find out.


	2. Taxicab

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There’s an angry hiss of static from Sammy’s phone before the man responds. “I’m sorry, did you say _Jack Wright_?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning, this story will likely be closer in tone to TMA than KFAM - It's much easier to make KFAM a little darker than drag TMA into lighter territory. That being said, I will go ahead and say that in light of recent events, I will absolutely give Martin a happy ending. No one will have fun getting there, but he _will_ be okay in the end.
> 
> CW this chapter for graphic depictions of violence, rabid animals, dubiously consensual drug use, and panic attacks. See end notes for details.

Ben waits with bated breath as the phone rings. Sammy’s seated next to him, clutching Lily’s spare tape recorder tightly in his hand. There was no way to call the Institute during business hours in London and have all three of them present, so Lily had requested that they record it for her. They’d tried googling the Magnus Institute on Ben’s phone before calling, but it’d frozen almost immediately. Despite his best efforts, Ben had been unable to turn it back on, so they’re huddled around Sammy’s phone instead.

There’s a click, and someone picks up on the other end of the line.

“Hello? You’ve reached the office of the Head of the Magnus Institute, how can I help you?”

Been locks eyes with Sammy, an anticipatory grin spreading across his face.

“Hi!” He greets the man, making his voice as cheery and unassuming as possible. “This is Ben Arnold and Sammy Stevens. We’re investigating a missing persons case, and we were told that you might have information for us?”

The man on the other end of the line falls silent. It stretches awkwardly, and Ben tries to refrain from fidgeting.

“Hello?” he asks when the silence becomes too much to bear.

“How did you get this number?” The man asks, not masking the hard edge that has seeped into his voice. “Police calls are supposed to be routed through the front desk.”

Ben makes note of this in his notebook.

“We’re not police,” Sammy interjects. “We’re journalists.” Ben raises a surprised eyebrow at Sammy, but Sammy just raises one back. “The man who’s missing received a card with this number on it shortly before he disappeared. Said it came from his father.”

There’s another pause, though not so nearly as long as the last.

“Right. When was this?” The man just sounds tired now, a sigh escaping as he reaches for what Ben would guess was a notepad and pen.

Sammy’s face grows somber, and Ben squeezes his hand gently. “January 3rd, 2015.”

“2015?”

“Yeah.”

“And you said he received the note from his father.”

Sammy nods. “So far as we’re aware, yes.”

“Right. And the name of the missing person is?”

Sammy takes a deep breath. “Jack Wright.”

There’s an angry hiss of static from Sammy’s phone before the man responds. “I’m sorry, did you say Jack _Wright_?” he asks, and there’s an urgency to his voice that wasn’t there before. They definitely have his attention now.

“Yes, Jack Wright,” Sammy confirms, and Ben frowns. There’s no way that the news of Jack’s disappearance had made it all the way across the pond _and_ that this man would think him important enough to remember without a very good reason.

“Right. And what was his father’s name?”

Sammy hesitates. “He never knew his father. His mother moved to the United States shortly before he and his sister were born. She was British, though. Her name was Margaret.”

Another burst of static before the man responds. “How did he disappear?”

“It’s a long story,” Ben says cautiously, glancing at Sammy. They probably should have discussed how much they were willing say before making the call, but it was too late now.

The man lets out a hollow laugh. “Aren’t they all. I don’t need a full statement, just give me the short version.”

Sammy offers the barest minimum of facts. “The shadows took him. He’s- he’s in the Void.”

“Okay then. Does the Void have a physical location?” the man asks, apparently taking Sammy’s odd explanation in stride.

“Yes, it’s in Perdition Wood.”

“Don’t go near it. Someone will be in touch.”

The line goes dead with a final hiss of static. Sammy and Ben stare at one another, unsure of what to make of the call.

“Well, that was something,” Ben offers, running a hand through his hair.

Sammy just frowns. “He never gave us his name. He’s hiding something.”

“But he does know something,” Ben decides. “He was way too interested in Jack for someone who’s probably never even heard of King Falls.”

“Mmhmm. We need to bring Lily in on this as soon as possible,” Sammy declares, and Ben agrees. If Lily can’t get a straight answer out of the man, then no one can.

Sammy stands and goes to grab a water bottle but is interrupted by a sudden commotion out back of their apartment. Alarmed by the hissing, screaming racket, Sammy and Ben drop what they’re doing and rush to the window.

Ben feels his stomach turn over, and he immediately turns away and puts his back to the wall, fighting the urge to vomit. There’s a whole pack of garbage bears outside, foaming at the mouth and doing their very best to rip one another to bloody pieces as they stagger across the yard. Ben never wants to see anything like that ever again, but the image is frozen in front of his eyes, held in place by the screaming he can still hear outside.

Sammy kneels next to him and wraps an arm around his shoulders. “I’ll call Sheriff Lynch. Just stay right here,” Sammy orders, giving Ben’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze before hurrying to grab his phone from where he’d dropped it.

Ben puts his head between his knees and tries to focus on breathing. The nausea is starting to fade, but he’s nowhere near ready to stand. Sammy kneels next to him again, and Ben anchors himself on his voice. His breathing starts to even out, and he leans into Sammy’s side.

“It’s been three months. I thought this was getting better,” he says shakily.

Sammy wraps an arm around him and pulls Ben closer.

“I know, buddy. We all did,” he says quietly.

“There hasn’t been anything like this since Troy,” Ben whispers, his words consumed by a choked sob.

“We’ll figure this out, okay?” Sammy reassures him.

Ben shakes his head. “It didn’t use to be like this. King Falls has always had its… _unusual_ side, but now it’s so much worse. This isn’t even like the last time. Last time was horrible, but not like this. And then you came here, and it got better. I had you, I had Emily, and I had Troy. And, and then the thing with Emily, and now Troy’s-“ He can’t bring himself to say dead. “gone.” Ben snuffles and brushes away his tears. “I don’t want to lose you too.”

“I’m not going anywhere, Ben.” Sammy declares, and Ben believes him. “We’ll figure this out. That guy we talked to knew something, I’m sure of it. Did you hear how intense he got when we mentioned Jack’s name? This could be the thing that cracks this whole mess wide open. We’ll tell Lily what happened, and we’ll give the Magnus Institute twenty-four hours to get back to us. If they haven’t, we’ll just call them again, okay? We can do this. You can do this.”

Sammy enfolds Ben with a massive hug, and Ben smiles.

“We can do this.”

****************

Jon startles as his door abruptly slams open and Basira storms in, anger plain on her face.

“What do you know about James Wright?” she demands, leaning imposingly over his desk.

Jon just stares at her, caught totally off his guard, and she scowls. “James Wright, Elias’s predecessor, what do you know about him?”

“I know a great deal about him, Basira,” Jon says slowly. “Were you looking for something specific?”

Basira is not amused. “Did you know he had children?”

Jon pauses. “Ah. No, I did not. How did we-“

Basira slams a hand on Jon’s desk, and he flinches. “No, Jon, I’m not giving it any more information. Not until we’re in a position to do anything about it.” She strides across the room and starts stuffing Jon’s spare clothes back into his backpack.

“What are you doing?” he asks, _very_ careful to keep the compulsion out of his voice as he rises from his chair.

Basira glares at him regardless of his efforts. “Something’s happened. One of us needs to go investigate. I’m not leaving Daisy behind, and there’s no world in which I leave you here unsupervised, so you’re coming too.”

Jon scowls and crosses his arms. “I’m not leaving Martin here alone.”

Basira turns and shoves his bag into his chest. It’s unexpectedly light for something he’s been living out of for months, but the force of her shove alone is enough to send him stumbling backwards.

“Martin’s the one who passed me the message Jon. We need to leave before Lukas tries to stop us.”

“No. I’m not leaving him,” Jon insists, backing away from Basira. He’s not going to leave Martin. Not now, when Martin needs him most. It’s one thing to give Martin space, to avoid passing him in the halls, but it’s another thing entirely to actually abandon him in the archives, to leave Martin alone with Lukas with no idea of when he’s coming back.

Anger and something else flashes in Basira’s eyes, and she surges forward, grabbing Jon by the arm. “There’s no time for this. Come with me; we need to leave _now_.” She tugs on his arm, and Jon finds himself falling into place behind her, the fight drained out of him.

Daisy’s waiting on the curb next to a taxicab outside the Institute, guarding a proper suitcase and two backpacks. She greets them with a grim smile and starts to load up the cab. Basira directs Jon into the cab, not allowing him the chance to look around. It’s the first time he’s been outside since the trip to Ny Ålesund, and he’s more than a little resentful that she doesn’t even allow him the chance to look up at the sky before he’s shoved into the cab. Jon huddles in the far corner, wrapping his arms around his chest. He’s been outside the Archives for all of a minute or two, and already he feels the urge to find a statement to feed on growing.

Basira sees him shudder, frowns, and rummages in her bag. Jon blinks, and she’s offering him two small pills and a water bottle.

“What’re these,” he asks, not yet reaching out to take them.

“Sedative. I’m not taking through an airport without taking the necessary precautions.”

That can’t be right. “It’s not safe to fly,” he argues.

Basira shakes her head, scooting over to give Daisy room as she climbs in beside her. “Martin negotiated with Simon Fairchild for our safe passage. As far as the Fairchilds are concerned, we’re on official business for Lukas.” She reaches over and pries Jon’s hand open, placing the pills in his palm.

“Take the pills, Jon,” she orders.

Jon does.

The cab ride to the airport isn’t short, and by the time they arrive Jon’s grip on reality has slipped away. He’s vaguely aware of Basira hustling him through the airport, though he thinks he sees her deep in conversation with security at some point. He blinks, and they’re seated on the plane, Jon sandwiched between Basira and Daisy, who is peering out the window. Basira’s slipping a pair of noise-cancelling headphones over his ears, and he stills as the chatter of the plane is cut off. Something tugs in his chest, and he tries to reach up and take them off, but his hands are just too heavy.

Daisy puts her hand over his, and he turns sluggishly to look at her, surprised. She’s smiling, soft and sad, and Jon returns it. Sighing, he slouches deeper into his seat and waits for the plane to take off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! The dates in KFAM and TMA line up... spookily well. I haven't had to change any of them. 
> 
> Did you know that canonically, Ben and Sammy are older than Jon and Martin? Neither did I.
> 
> CW details (contains spoilers): several rabid raccoons fight in the yard. It's not super explicit, but it's entirely glossed over either. Ben has a strong panic response to witnessing this, including nausea. Later, Basira insists that Jon take a sedative while traveling, and it's heavily implied that she compels him to do so.


	3. Ironwood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “This isn’t the work of the Dark,” Basira argues.  
Jon smiles grimly. “I never said it was.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a holiday weekend here, so have an early chapter this week! Featuring friends both new and old.

Sammy checks the time on his phone for the third time in as many minutes, making sure to keep an eye on the door to the arrivals terminal of the airport as he does so. A sharp gust of wind cuts through his jacket and he shivers, his breath clearly visible in the cool night air. The plane with the team from the Magnus Institute had touched down nearly half an hour ago, so they should be emerging any minute now. The hour ticks over to eleven, and Sammy takes a moment to send a check-in text to Ben.

Just as he presses send, a small group of people pushes through the door. It’s mostly run-of-the-mill travelers, but a small bunch near the back catches Sammy’s eye. He focuses in on two women and a man who, despite their obvious exhaustion, are trying very hard to look as though they aren’t watching everything that’s happening around them. They hang back by the door, waiting for everyone else to exit before cautiously stepping out into the night.

Sammy walks in their direction, and the two women move in front of the man as if to shield him from Sammy. _Or me from him_, his mind offers, although Sammy isn’t quite sure where that thought came from.

As he nears, the full extent of their exhaustion becomes evident. The woman on the left may be dressed immaculately but her face is haggard, and she’s clutching her backpack a little too tightly. The other woman, who stands about half a head shorter, is rail-thin, leaning heavily on her companion. Sammy can’t see much of the man behind them, but what he does see is deeply unsettling. The man is dressed unassumingly enough, but he’s clearly been sleeping in his clothes for a good while. His eyes are focused steadily on the ground, and Sammy’s gaze slides off of them onto the small, circular scars scattered across his face. They bear a loose resemblance to cigarette burns, but they’re far too deep to just be burn scars. Sammy decides right then and there that he has no desire to ever find out what caused wounds that would scar like that.

The taller woman coughs politely, and Sammy realizes he’s been staring.

“Uh, hi,” he says, offering a hand. “I’m Sammy Stevens. I assume you folks are from the Magnus Institute?”

The woman nods tersely and accepts the handshake with a firm, calloused grip. “I’m Basira, this is Daisy, and the one in the back is Jon. Don’t let him ask you any questions.”

Sammy frowns, and looks again at Jon. He wants to object, but something tells him he should gather a little more information first. He puts on his mildest smile and gestures towards Ben’s car. “If you’re ready, then I can take you into town?” he offers. Basira starts leading the others in the direction Sammy pointed. She and Jon immediately make a beeline for the correct car, despite it being two aisles away.

The car ride through the night is quiet, with Jon asleep in the backseat next to Daisy and Basira keeping watch in the passenger seat. Sammy can feel her staring at him for most of the drive, and his patience begins to wear dangerously thin as they cross the county line.

“How was the flight?” he asks, keeping up his deliberately bland facade.

“Why did you insist on picking us up at the airport?” Basira counters. “We could have very easily rented a car.”

Sammy shrugs, keeping his eyes on the road. “The local sheriffs office has been understaffed lately, and they didn’t want to have to send someone out where when old General Abilene inevitably disappeared the road signs and tried to trap you in Sweetser Forrest.”

“What, is he like the town ghost or something?” grumbles Daisy.

Sammy’s about to correct her when Jon murmurs, “They prefer _apparition_.”

Surprised, Sammy glances up and meets Jon’s eyes in the rearview mirror. It is… unpleasant. Sammy is reminded of the stranger outside Rose’s, but as heavy as that man’s gaze had been, Jon’s is infinitely worse. Sammy feels like he’s been stripped bare, his entire life splayed out for the hungry gaze of the world to see. Sammy shudders, and Jon tears his gaze away.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, and Basira whips around and fixes Jon with an angry glare.

“Jon,” she warns, and Jon sighs.

“I can’t be of any help if I don’t know anything,” he says, and Sammy would have described it as petulant if the man hadn’t sounded so desperate.

Basira nearly growls. “You’re not here to help, Jon. You’re here because I’m not leaving you alone in the present circumstances.”

Something is going on between them, and the more Sammy hears the two of them interact, the more apprehensive he becomes. He tries to get a good look at Jon in the mirror again, but the man is staring out the window and his face is shrouded in shadow.

“You’re going to want my help, though. Unless you’d like to take on a stronghold of the dark on your own.”

Basira sighs. “We’re not here to take on The Dark, we’re just here to gather information about neutralizing the eye.”

“He’s not dead, you know,” Jon says proudly.

“What?” Basira sounds truly angry now, her voice completely even.

“Wright’s son. The Dark took him, but he’s not dead.”

Sammy’s had enough. He angrily pulls the car off the side of the road without bothering to use his blinker and throws it into park.

“Look,” he says, glaring at each of the passengers in turn. They all look unimpressed, and Sammy’s frustration grows. “I don’t know who you are or what you do, but King Falls is my home, and Jack is my fiancée. So if you could please treat this situation with at least the bare minimum of respect, it would be much appreciated.”

“Respect isn’t our strong suit,” Daily warns, a thin-lipped smile on her face.

“At least make an effort,” Sammy responds acerbically, crossing his arms. “And I don’t know where you’re getting your information from, but I know for a fact that the Dark had nothing to do with Jack’s disappearance.”

“We’re not talking about Dwayne Libbydale, Mr. Stevens,” Jon says, and Sammy is filled with the sudden urge to throw him out of the car.

“Would you like to share with the class then, since you seem to know so much about what’s going on.” Sammy angrily throws his hands up in the air, and every other person in the car flinches.

Basira starts to respond, but Sammy doesn’t hear a word she says as his brain grinds to a halt. The light in around the car is slowly starting to change, with bands of warmer light bisecting the shadows. Swearing profusely, Sammy throws the car back into drive and peels out into the road.

“What is that,” Basira demands, twisted to look out the rear window of the car.

“The rainbow lights,” Sammy answers grimly. “They’re the other reason we didn’t want you driving on your own.” The car reaches a straightaway, and Sammy takes the opportunity to grab his phone from his pocket, thumb it open, and toss it to Basira.

“Call Ben Arnold,” he orders. “If he doesn’t pick up, try again, then call Lily Wright.”

Sammy turns his focus back to keeping the car on the road and the rainbow lights behind them. He’s driving as fast as he dares, but the lights are gaining quickly. They’re not toying with him this time, just sitting low on the horizon and relentlessly eating up the distance.

“Sammy, is everything alright?” Ben asks, the anxiety in his voice obvious even through the tinny phone speakers. “You’re not supposed to check in for another fifteen minutes.”

“Ben,” Sammy says, trying to keep his voice from breaking even though his hands are shaking. “Ben, the rainbow lights are out again.”

“Where are you?” Ben asks frantically, his words blurring together. “What’s happening?”

“We’re five minutes out from town. I don’t know where to go, Ben. I’m not leading them into town.”

“Pull over,” says a voice from the back. It’s Jon, who’s sitting up straight now, eyes fixed intently on the road ahead.

“Are you serious?” Ben asks.

Jon nods confidently. “You can’t outrun them. Go around this corner and pull over. Leave the engine running and the radio on. We’ll make the rest of the journey on foot.”

It’s not the worst idea Sammy’s ever heard, and Ben doesn’t immediately object. Sammy swerves around the corner, keeping a steady hand on the wheel as the car fishtails a bit. He can hear Basira talking to Ben next to him, but he focuses on driving. There’s a short, flat bit of road where the guardrail disappears, and Sammy tucks the car into it, throwing it into park and slamming the power button for the radio before scrambling out of the car. He catches a second of Chet’s voice before the car door shuts with a quiet thud.

The team from the Magnus Institute are already out of the car and gathered by the side of the road. Basira’s got a gun out, and Daisy’s clutching a large knife. Sammy decides not to ask where they came from. He rushes over to join them, the reverberating hum of the rainbow lights loud enough now that he can feel it in his chest. They scramble up and over the embankment, struggling to push through the dense undergrowth. Basira and Sammy end up doing most of the work, Daisy and Jon helping each other up the hill behind them.

Sammy sees a large upended tree a good distance from the road and tugs the others towards it. The rainbow lights are brighter than the light from the moon, casting odd, twisted shadow through the woods.

They collapse, panting, behind the fallen tree just as the lights round the corner. Basira passes Sammy the phone, and he suddenly realizes that the call is still connected.

“Ben?” Sammy whispers, holding the phone up to his ear.

“Oh my God, Sammy what’s happening?” Ben hisses.

“We’re hiding in the woods,” Sammy answers, trying to catch his breath. “The lights are almost here.” Moving as carefully as he can, Sammy turns over and peeks his head over the top of the tree.

“They’re over the car now,” he says, squinting into the lights. They’re smaller than he remembers, hovering no more than twenty feet off the ground, well below the tree line. The car is encased in a beam of white light, and Sammy has the absurd realization that it desperately needs to be washed. The beam is pulsing in time with the hum of the craft’s engines, slowly sweeping the area around the car. It hesitates a bit on the spot where Sammy and the others broke through the underbrush, but it soon moves on, searching the rest of the area by the road before returning to the car. It hovers still again for a moment, and then the searchlight clicks off.

“Hello, Samuel “Shotgun” Stevens,” says Tim 1000. “Have you brought new friends for me to meet?”

Sammy can feel the others turn to look at him, but he keeps his eyes fixed on the road.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are,” the robot sings. “I would like to deliver a message.”

“Is that TimBot?” Ben whispers, but Sammy doesn’t dare respond.

“I know you’re here, Archivist. I would like to be friends, but I don’t think you have many of those. Have you spoken to Martin K. Blackwood today?”

There’s the sound of a muffled struggle to Sammy’s left, and he turns to see Daisy and Basira restraining a struggling Jon. He’s on his knees, arms behind his back and Daisy’s hand clapped over his mouth. The searchlight clicks back on, pointing right at them, and everyone stills, though Sammy can still here the sound of Jon’s labored breathing. 

“It was nice to meet you, Archivist formerly known as Jonathan Sims, Detective Basira Hussain, and Alice “Daisy” Tonner. I hope to speak with you again soon.”

With that, the craft flies up and away, leaving a rainbow contrail in its wake.

“It’s gone,” Sammy breathes, talking to Ben as much as to the people next to him.

“Oh thank God,” Ben says, audibly deflating.

“We’ll meet you at the secret space?” Sammy asks.

“I’ll ask Chet to put on a best-of for us,” Ben confirms. “Be careful, Sammy,” he says softly, and Sammy smiles.

“Don’t worry I will,” he says, slipping the phone back into his pocket. He turns to talk to the others, but Basira’s turned away completely and Daisy is focused on Jon.

“Are you guys alright?” Sammy asks, making his way over to them.

Basira turns to him, displaying a palmful of reddish dust. “Have you seen this before?” she asks, and Sammy shakes his head. “These trees are covered in it, but only where the light from that _thing_ touched.”

Sammy runs a finger through the dust on the tree and brings it to his face, trying to get a good look at it in the dappled moonlight. It’s very fine and has a slight orange tint to it. He carefully sniffs it, then blanches.

“It’s rust,” he says, and Basira nods.

“Trees don’t rust though, not when exposed to normal light.”

Jon clears his throat. “They’re ironwood tress,” he rasps.

Sammy pins him with an incredulous stare. “They’re still trees. Trees don’t rust.”

“This isn’t the work of the Dark,” Basira argues.

Jon smiles grimly. “I never said it was.” He turns intently towards Sammy, who shrinks back from the attention. “If you were to classify the supernatural activity in King Falls, how would you categorize it?”

The words rise from Sammy’s throat unbidden. “King Falls has a long and storied history of supernatural activity. The nature of that activity has changed over the years, but if you were to survey it now there would be three categories – minor occurrences, the Void, and the Science Institute. Minor occurrences like the werewolves, apparitions, and other creatures don’t really pose a significant threat to the anyone unless angered. They exist separately from the Void, which is perhaps the most famous supernatural element of King Falls. It’s dangerous, but the town has existed in close proximity to it for a long time, and the danger seems to be limited to people who anger the Shadowmaker or who stray too close to the doorstep. The Institute is the newest part of King Falls, and it is… indiscriminate in who it targets.”

Jon nods and stands a little taller. Basira looks furious.

“What the fuck was that,” Sammy blurts, stumbling back a step. He feels slightly woozy, almost drunk.

“Something Jon knows he’s not supposed to do,” Basira snaps. “He can compel people. It’s part of his whole… monster thing.”

This does not reassure Sammy one bit. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on?” he asks, edging towards the car.

“Of course,” Jon says, meeting Sammy’s eyes. The feeling of being _seen_ is missing this time, but it’s obvious that Jon is putting significant effort into it. “But it’s a long story, and I’m not telling it more than once.”

Sammy meets his gaze, looking for a threat, but all he sees is a tired man. Nodding to the group, he acquiesces. “Fine. Get in the car then, let’s get going,” he grumbles, and he turns to head back down the embankment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Have you figured out what's going on in King Falls? Share your theories in the comments!


	4. Silhouette

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The whole table goes completely still. The only sound is the quiet whirr of Lily’s tape recorder. Sammy realizes he’s not breathing and opens his mouth to speak.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the infodump chapter! A certain subset of questions get answers, and certain other questions continue to only get subtle hints.
> 
> I've added a tentative chapter count! This includes everything I've mapped out so far, but I fully expect it to grow before the fic is finished.
> 
> cw this chapter for threats of violence, see end notes for spoiler details

Sammy winces as the noise level in the room skyrockets, aggravating his headache. He pinches the bridge of his nose, but a Bensplosion next to him wrests his attention back to the discussion.

“So you’re telling me,” Ben says, his voice high and eyes wide, “that all of the spooky stuff can be explained by these fourteen _fear-things_ fighting for world domination?”

Jon shifts in his chair, his discomfort evident even to Sammy. “Well, spooky isn’t quite the word I’d use,” he offers. Daisy and Basira make long-suffering eye contact from either side of him.

Ben scoffs and ignores him, rounding on Sammy. “And you,” he says, poking Sammy in the shoulder, “do you really believe this?” His tone is low and accusatory, and Sammy knows that he’ll have to answer carefully.

“Is it that much of a stretch from what we’ve already seen?” he asks gently.

“Yes!” Ben exclaims wildly. “Yes, it is! King Falls was just fine until a few years ago! Aside from Perdition Wood, which everybody knows to stay away from anyway, nothing was dangerous! There were no abductions, no murderbots, no sudden, unexplained wildlife die-off’s, and no creepy churches! If these _things_ have always been around, then why is the situation only changing now?”

Jon just sighs wearily in the face of Ben’s outburst. “Four years ago, the Dark made an attempt at a ritual,” he begins, mostly managing to keep a patronizing tone out of his voice. It’s a good effort, but Sammy can tell it won’t quite be enough even before Ben makes a small noise of protest. Jon visibly restrains himself from rolling his eyes before continuing. “The Shadowmaker, then, if you must. The main part of the ritual was set to occur during a solar eclipse in Ny Ålesund, but congregations all over the world participated. I assume you have a congregation of The People’s Church of the Divine Host in town?”

The whole table goes completely still. The only sound is the quiet whirr of Lily’s tape recorder. Sammy realizes he’s not breathing and opens his mouth to speak. “Yes,” he says, his voice quiet. Neither Ben nor Lily meet his eyes.

Jon nods like he anticipated the answer, though the sudden tension in the room has clearly thrown him. “The People’s Church of the Divine Host is a cult that worships the Dark. Have you heard of them doing anything… unusual?”

Sammy waits for Ben to answer this one. He’d like nothing more right now than to let Ben leave and escape this entire conversation, but the church has been a presence in town long before Sammy arrived, and he knows that Ben will have the better answer.

Ben takes a steadying breath, and squeezes Sammy’s hand under the table before beginning. “Reverend Halley Hawthorne has had a congregation for as long as I can remember, but he only settled it permanently in town when they purchased the church about a year or so before Sammy came. There were some odd occurrences reported around the building in the spring of 2015, but they were quiet after that.

“At least, they were until three months ago. Someone called in to our show, started saying that there was screaming coming from the church. We passed it on to the police, and Troy – the sheriff – went to check it out. He walked into the building, and the screaming stopped. He never came back out.” Ben slumps in his chair, dejectedly doodling in the margins of his notebook.

Jon nods. “That activity in 2015 coincides with the ritual attempt. It is my belief that forces of the Dark took Mr. Wright as part of their preparations.”

“But why Jack?” Sammy asks. It still doesn’t quite make sense. “Why would they seek him out specifically? He’s not connected to any of this.”

Jon grimaces apologetically. “Ah, well. That is not entirely correct. I’m afraid that Mr. Wright was in fact strongly connected to the eye.”

It’s Lily’s turn to interrupt now. She jumps to her feet and slams her hands on the table, eyes ablaze. Jon flinches hard but if anything, this encourages her. “That’s bullshit,” she snarls, her words dripping with venom Sammy has only ever heard directed at him. “I would have known. Hell, even Stevens would have known. How dare you come in here and say these things about my brother. You know nothing about him, or about us. You’re monsters, the whole pack of you.”

Jon looks down at where his hands lay folded on the table. “Yes, I suppose we are. But that doesn’t change anything. Your brother had an affinity for the Eye, as do you. Your father was a loyal follower of the Eye for much of his life and served as head of the Magnus Institute in his later years. It is only natural that his children, wherever they may have been born or raised, would share some of his affinity.”

Lily scoffs. “So you’re going to bring our father into this?” she sneers. “I suppose that next you’ll say that he’s waiting for me in London, hoping for one last chance to connect with his remaining child before he dies.”

Jon smirks. “That would be terribly difficult, since he was almost certainly murdered by his successor in 1996.”

“Jon!” Daisy admonishes, and in his defense, he does manage to look quite contrite.

“My apologies, Miss Wright, I’m terribly hungry,” he murmurs. As exhausted as he had looked at the airport, Jon somehow looks even worse now. Ben shoves the plate of muffins in his direction, but Jon only laughs. The muffins may have been a little bland, Sammy thought, but not nearly enough to warrant that bitter laugh, and he tries to redirect the conversation.

“But how does being connected to the Eye make Jack a target for the Dark?” he asks.

Jon nods. “Some fears naturally oppose one another. The Dark and the Eye are two of those. On one hand you have the drive to know and see all, and on the other you have impenetrable, unknowable darkness. If I was able to hurt part of the darkness by observing it, then it stands to reason that the Dark might have something to gain by blinding a part of the Eye.”

Sammy mulls this one over. “But then why keep him alive?”

“Can’t be afraid if you’re dead,” Jon says flatly. The statement hangs in the air for a moment, no one quite willing to refute it.

“Well, that’s suitably terrible,” Lily comments with a pointed glare.

“Then can you help us get him back?” Ben asks intently. “If you can hurt the Dark just by looking at it?”

Jon shakes his head. “I’m afraid not. I was much stronger the last time I went up against the Dark. There’s very little I can do as I am now.”

Sammy frowns. Jon had seemed pretty powerful when he pulled the information on King Falls from him in the forest. “What exactly do you do? You serve the Eye as well?”

“Miss Wright’s earlier accusation was indeed correct. I am… not entirely human. I belong to the Eye. As long as I keep it fed on the knowledge of other’s encounters with the fears, it permits me to continue to exist. It also grants me certain abilities that aid me in this task, some of which you are already familiar with, Mr. Stevens.”

“But you haven’t been feeding it,” Sammy guesses. It’s not hard. Jon may think his constant references to hunger are vague and oblique, but the more he makes them the more obvious it becomes.

“No, I have not.”

Sammy takes a breath. “Feed on me,” he offers.

The room erupts. There’s a shout of “Sammy, no!” from Ben, and Lily and Basira are immediately on their feet. Daisy is watching Sammy intently, but she hasn’t said anything nor has she risen from her seat. Basira is staring at Jon, but Jon just looks at his hands again.

“I won’t do that, Mr. Stevens,” he says. “It is… _unpleasant_ for those I feed on, and I assume you would like to be here for Mr. Wright if he gets back. And after all, the Eye is one of the entities. We have no guarantee of its benevolence. Feeding it may have consequences that reach far beyond King Falls.”

“But it will kill you,” Ben says softly.

Jon gives him a wry smile. “That seems to be the case, yes.”

Sammy feels an odd sort of tug, deep in his chest.

“Why are you here then, if you’re not going to help get Jack back?” Lily asks.

Basira shoots Jon a glance, and he slumps back in his chair as she takes over the explanation. She says something about a ritual and gathering information about stopping the Eye, but Sammy’s focus is all on Jon. The man’s eyes are still red-rimmed from crying earlier, and his hands are shaking as he starts to pick apart a muffin. Without warning he looks up and meets Sammy’s eyes, apparently unsurprised to find Sammy watching him.

Sammy looks pointedly to the door, and Jon hesitates, then nods. He looks to Daisy for permission, and she glances at him and then Sammy before nodding and turning back to the conversation. She nudges Basira into a long explanation, and as soon as Basira’s attention is focused on the conversation, Jon slips out of his chair and joins Sammy by the door.

The air outside is cool, a welcome change from the stuffy room. Jon fumbles in his pocket for a pack of cigarettes and offers one to Sammy, but Sammy declines. Jon shrugs before lighting his own with a deft flick of his lighter.

It takes a moment for him to rearrange himself as he stares out into the forest. Sammy waits for him to settle before daring to open the question. “Who’s Martin?” he asks quietly. Jon’s face does a complicated thing that Sammy finds oddly familiar before setting on a melancholy expression.

“I don’t know anymore,” Jon says, and it sounds like a confession. It takes a moment, but he continues after a long drag. “He loved me, once. But I didn’t see until it was too late. The Lonely has him now.”

“Can you get him back?”

“I don’t think he wants to come back,” Jon says, his voice barely more than a whisper.

Sammy takes a deep breath. “You should talk to Ben,” he says.

Jon shakes his head. “I’m not dragging anyone else into this.”

“If Ben ever finds out, he’ll drag himself into it,” Sammy warns, looking pointedly at Jon and shoving all his memories of the third Sammiversary at him. This time when Jon meets his eyes, it feels less like being flayed and more like a mild abrasion, but Sammy digs his nails into his palms and pushes through it.

A small smile flits across Jon’s face. “I see what you mean, Mr. Stevens.”

“Call me Sammy, please.”

“Sammy, then.” Another pause. Another drag on his cigarette.

“What’re you going to do while you’re here, then?” If Jon would rather make small talk, then Sammy can also do small talk.

Jon shrugs apathetically. “Not much, I suppose. Basira’s not particularly keen on my going out and about, so I imagine I’ll spend much of my time right here.”

Sammy shifts awkwardly. “I’ve been wanting to ask about that. She’s-“

“Controlling? Yes. I’m an avatar of an eldritch horror who has lied about his addiction to forcing people to relive their most traumatic experiences. I’d say it’s well within her rights to limit my exposure to people.”

Sammy’s not exactly _more_ comfortable now that he has an explanation, but it’s better than nothing.

“Is it really that bad?” he asks.

Jon laughs hollowly. “Do you remember what happened in the woods?”

Sammy swallows and nods. He’s doubts he’ll ever manage to forget.

“I wasn’t even asking you for anything particularly difficult. Every second I spend talking to you, I am also fighting the urge to rip your secrets out of you.” Jon turns to meet Sammy’s gaze. “Do you want me to ask you about Jack?” he says, taking a step towards Sammy.

Sammy shrinks back, away from Jon and, he notices, away from the door.

“Do you want me to ask you about the Devil’s Doorstep?” Jon demands, continuing his inexorable advance. “Or about how it felt to look into the darkness and know that no matter how much you hoped or how hard you tried you could never reach Jack?” Jon’s eyes glow in the silhouette of his face, backlit by the moon as he looms over Sammy.

“No,” Sammy whispers, his heart racing. “Please don’t.”

Jon deflates. It’s an odd thing, less like he physically shrinks and more like the world is warping around him.

“I’m not human anymore,” he says quietly. “Stop pretending that I am.”

Before Sammy can respond, Basira bursts through the door, Daisy hot on her heels. Daisy slams into Jon, knocking him backwards onto the ground. He doesn’t fight.

Basira beelines straight for Sammy. “Are you alright?” she demands, roughly looking him over.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Sammy says. Basira dismisses him and turns on Jon.

“What did you do?” she hisses. Daisy’s got him pinned flat on his back, his arms trapped under her knees. He’s trying to look unconcerned, but Daisy’s got a knife and Sammy is pretty sure this this the first time he’s seen genuine fear on Jon’s face.

“I didn’t do anything!” he gasps. Daisy doesn’t move, but Basira’s eyes narrow. Sammy rushes forwards and grabs her arm. She throws him off, and he hold up his hands placatingly.

“Nothing happened, I swear,” he says urgently. “_Jack in the Box Jesus_, I’m fine. Just let him up.”

Basira glares at him, but Daisy shifts and helps Jon to his feet.

“Let’s go, Basira,” she says. “We could all do with some sleep.”

Basira holds eye contact with Sammy for another moment, then turns to follow them. “Keep your distance, Stevens,” she warns as she leaves. “Nothing good comes from meeting the Archivist.”

Sammy closes his eyes and takes a deep breath before trudging around to the front of the cabin where Ben is waiting by the car. The moment he rounds the corner Ben leaps up, rushing over to him.

“Are you alright?” he asks, looking concerned. “Lily had just left when I heard shouting out back.”

“Ben,” Sammy says, suddenly serious. “I need you to find out everything you can about Martin Blackwood.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who's commented! It's difficult to predict exactly which bits of things you folks will pick up on when I'm writing, so the comments help me figure out how to pace things.
> 
> Good grief, there was a lot of dialogue in this chapter. Savor it, because the next chapter will have... _less_.
> 
> CW: In this chapter, Jon threatens to compel Sammy to recount his trip to the Devil's Doorstep, and Daisy and Basira physically threaten Jon with a knife.


	5. No Signal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Their apartment is five miles from the town center. That’s what, a two hour walk? Maybe? He can do that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a busy weekend for me so have an extra-early chapter!

Ben is just leaving the grocery store when he first notices that something is wrong. There’s a chill in the air that wasn’t there before, and he’s soon shivering, his hoodie offering only meager protection from the wind. A bank of clouds has rolled in, blotting out the previously sunny sky. Hurrying across the lot to the car, he loads in the food and water before climbing into the front seat. It’s chilly enough that he’s ready to turn on the heat, his teeth chattering loudly in the quiet car as he turns the key. Nothing happens. He curses, then tries again, but the car remains stubbornly silent. His heart is racing, and he pulls out his phone to call Sammy.

No signal.

Hands shaking, Ben stumbles out of the car and looks around the parking lot. It should be bustling at this point on a weekday evening, but it’s empty. There are a few cars scattered throughout the empty spaces, but even at a quick glance Ben can tell that they’re abandoned, resting haphazardly in various states of disrepair. Ben turns to look at the main road, but there’s not a moving vehicle in sight. Which would make sense, since he hadn’t been able to hear any traffic. Now that he thinks about it, he can’t hear any other noises either. Beyond the sound of his own breathing and the rustle of his clothes, the world is muffled. The silence that would normally be a comfort in the recording studio is somehow alien in the outdoors. 

Ben checks his phone again, but it remains without a signal. He shoves it back in his pocket with a sigh and starts walking. The streetlights are still working, having just clicked on for the evening, so it can’t be another electrolocaust, and if the lights are still working, then the payphone by the Bent n Dent should be too. Walking there will keep him warm, at least, and it’s not too far to go.

Ben thinks of Emily, safe with her mother far away from King Falls, and takes a moment to be glad that she isn’t here to see this. As bad as the days following the attack on the radio station by the rainbow lights had been, this was somehow worse. The streets weren’t just quiet, they were empty. Ben didn’t need to politely avoid any concerned citizens while walking because there wasn’t a single person around to avoid.

By the time he’s walked the two blocks to the payphone, Ben has formulated the beginnings of a plan, but it all melts away when he picks up the phone and is met only by static. Ben shoves the useless phone back onto the hook and buries his head in his hands. _Okay. I can do this._ Their apartment is five miles from the town center. That’s what, a two hour walk? Maybe? He can do that. The sun’s not too low in the sky; if he starts now he might even make it before dark.

Ben takes a resolute breath and starts walking. Time passes.

He keeps walking. He may never have walked this route before, but he could have sworn that the red brick buildings of the town center should have ended by now. Frowning, he looks around for the gas station that marks the transition to the neighborhoods. It’s not in front of him, and it’s not behind him either. In fact, he can’t recognize any of the buildings. They’re all familiar shapes, but there’s something _wrong _about them. Squinting through the fog, he tries to read the sign of the pizzeria across the street, but his eyes just slide off the words. All he can make out is the shape of a word in italics, and a nondescript image of a pizza slice. He looks to the building next door, which is unmistakably a dry cleaners, but the details there remain equally as elusive.

A horrible loneliness settles in his gut, and Ben can’t stand to be in this place any longer. He takes off running, keeping the spot where the sun should be over his left shoulder in an attempt to stay as close to true north as he can. He’s not the most physically fit guy in the world, but he makes good time, his adrenaline and fear serving as excellent motivators. The empty city unfolds before him, each block as indistinct as the last.

He doesn’t know how long he’s been running for when suddenly, he trips. He cries out, throwing his hands out in front of his face, but instead of the unforgiving sidewalk concrete he expected, his fall is broken by plushy grass. Ben takes a moment to just lay there, panting, eyes squeezed shut. The grass is cool against his sweaty skin, and if he concentrates hard enough he can just catch the faintest whiff of it it’s earthy scent.

A voice speaks up behind him, and Ben whips around, struggling to find purchase on the wet grass.

“Hello there,” the man says pleasantly with a tip of his captain’s hat.

Ben narrows his eyes. The man is tall but narrow, with salt and pepper hair and a look of carefully cultivated harmlessness that is belied only by its banality. His facial expression is friendly, but in a self-amused sort of way that instantly put Ben on edge.

“Where am I?” Ben asks breathlessly. “What do you want?”

“You certainly have a lot of questions,” the man says with a chuckle, taking a step towards Ben. “But I’m afraid you won’t get any answers.”

“Sammy will come looking for me,” Ben warns, scooting backwards, but the man just laughs.

“Oh, Benjamin. Sammy wouldn’t be able to find you here. Besides, I’m not going to keep you. I need you to deliver a message to the Archivist.”

“A message?” Ben asks.

The man smiles, and there’s no trace of pleasantness left in it. “Don’t worry. You won’t need to remember a thing.”

He reaches down to touch Ben’s face. Ben tries to flinch away, but he’s not quite fast enough. The man’s hand is cold, and numbness quickly spreads from where he gently brushes a thumb across Ben’s cheek. Ben’s breath slows, and he slips quietly into the darkness.

****************

Sammy paces back and forth across their apartment, glancing at his phone every time he turns a corner. Ben was supposed to be back from the grocery store before five, and the sun has nearly set. Sammy had even texted Jon to see if Ben had stopped by to drop off the food and water, but Jon hadn’t responded either. He’s halfway through typing in Ben’s number to call again when his screen blinks and brings up an incoming call. It’s an unknown number, but the area code is from King Falls. Sammy quickly picks up.

“Hello?” he says.

“Good evening, Mr. Stevens,” says the man on the other end. Sammy stiffens. “I have some information you might be interested in.”

“I’m sorry, who is this?” Sammy asks, letting some of his frustration seep into his voice. The man sounds kind of like Jon, but _slimier_.

“You have more important things to concern yourself with then who I am. Now, if you would like to save your friend, I suggest you make your way to the boat ramps. Mr. Arnold won’t last very long in this cold, I should think.”

The line goes dead. Sammy stares blankly at his phone for a moment while his brain catches up before throwing himself into action. Ben had the car at the store with him, but Herschel’s got the Jeep and he lives just down the street. Sammy’s out the door and sprinting down the road before he can think to call ahead. Thankfully, the porch lights are on and Sammy can see Hershel’s Jeep Cherokee parked in the driveway.

Sammy throws himself up the steps and starts pounding on the door. There’s a commotion from inside the house, and Sammy braces himself against his knees, trying to catch his breath wile he waits for Herschel to come to the door.

“What the devil are you playing at, Shotgun?” Herschel grouses, yanking the door open.

“Ben’s in trouble,” Sammy gasps between breaths, and Herschel immediately turns serious.

“Where is he?” Hershel asks, grabbing his boots from beside the door.

“Out by the boat ramps.”

Herschel nods. “Meet me by the jeep. I need to bring anything?”

Sammy shakes his head. He’d rather get there as soon as possible. “No, I don’t think so. Just hurry.”

“Good. I’ll be out in a moment.”

True to his word, Herschel is in the driveway less than two minutes later with a rifle bag slung over his shoulder. Sammy eyes it warily, but Herschel just stomps by him and clambers into the Jeep, leaving Sammy to scramble in after him.

Sammy’s barely gotten his seatbelt buckled before Herschel peels out of the driveway and guns it down the street. Part of Sammy wants to tell Herschel to slow down, but he doesn’t dare say anything that might distract him from the road. Thankfully, the cold snap seems to be keeping people off the streets despite the evening sun.

The make it to the boat ramps in record time. The sun is just starting to slip behind the mountain, leaving the trees to cast lean shadows across the ground like teeth. As soon as the car is stopped Sammy jumps out, Hershel falling into place right by Sammy’s shoulder as they approach the first ramp. Neither of them says anything, their breath and the sound of the water lapping at the ramps almost too loud in the quiet evening air.

The first ramp is empty, and Sammy feel his fear growing. _What if Ben’s not there? What if this was a ploy to get Sammy out of the house so they could get to Ben? What if Ben is here, but Sammy is too late?_

They’ve just rounded the corner to the second ramp when Sammy sees something down by the water. He starts to rush forwards, but slams to a halt when he sees the figure face down on the concrete, half-in, half-out of the water. It is very clearly wearing Ben’s hoodie. Sammy freezes. Ben doesn’t look like he’s breathing.

Herschel hurries past Sammy, kneeling by Ben and checking for a pulse before turning him onto his side. Ben’s eyes are closed, and his mouth hangs slightly open.

“Stevens!” Herschel barks, jolting Sammy into action. He bolts down the ramp, crouching next to Herschel.

“He’s still breathing, but you need to call the hospital right the hell now, Stevens,” Herschel orders. Sammy hurries to comply, pulling his phone from his pocket and dialing with shaking hands. Now that he’s close, he can see the fog of Ben's breath, but the movement of his chest is barely perceptible. Sammy reaches out and brushes a clump of wet hair back from Ben’s face and shudders. Ben’s skin is freezing cold.

The line connects.

“911, what is the nature of your emergency?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry? 
> 
> If you think anything in this chapter deserves a tag or warning please let me know, I was on the fence about a couple of things. 
> 
> This chapter was pretty much written in its entirety before TMA 159 was released.


	6. The Clean Boot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sammy never, ever wants to hear Ben afraid like that again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some angst of a different flavor while we recover from 160  
Also maybe some good things?
> 
> CW this chapter for suicidal ideation, see end notes for more details.

Sammy and Jon sit side by side, clinging to the meager warmth offered by the afternoon sun. Sammy’s got his hands stuffed in his pockets to ward off the chill, but Jon’s all but twiddling his thumbs in agitation. Between them, the cassette player clicks to a stop.

“How is he,” Jon asks quietly.

Sammy shrugs. “He’s alright. The hospital initially wanted to keep him longer, but we managed to talk them into releasing him this morning. Once they realized who he was, they practically shoved us out the door, bottle of potassium iodide in hand. Said keeping him there while someone was trying to kill him was too dangerous for the other patients.” Sammy’s furious at the hospital for denying Ben care, but at the same time he knows that Ben is safer here anyway, hidden away in Herschel and Cecil’s old hunting lodge with the crew from the Magnus Institute. It was a bit of a squeeze to fit everyone in to sleep, but nothing they couldn’t manage.

Sammy casts a weary glance up towards the sky and continues. “As far as they can tell, he just passed out from exhaustion, and the hypothermia set in while he was unconscious. The other _thing_ is unrelated and has probably been going on for a while now.” Sammy rubs the back of his neck, roughly brushing away a phantom tingle. “I’ve got it too, you know. Not that he or I are emitting enough radiation to put other people in danger, but still. It’s not something anybody wants to mess around with. The hospital’s holding an emergency clinic tomorrow, and they’re hoping to test the whole town. Not that that matters to you, anyway. You haven’t been in town long enough for it to have had any effect,” Sammy says with a hollow chuckle. He can feel his eyes go slightly too wide, his breath slightly too shallow, and he tries to wrest his body back under control.

“Anyway,” he continues, abruptly shifting gears, “I’m assuming that tape meant something to you, because I’m only fifty percent sure of what I heard.” The tape held a single snippet of audio of Ben running from something, then collapsing before being confronted by a man whose voice Sammy didn’t recognize. Sammy never, ever wants to hear Ben afraid like that again.

Jon’s shoulders slump, and he drags his hand across his face. “Peter Lukas isn’t exactly a subtle man. He may think himself an excellent machinator, but he tends to gravitate towards the first solution that presents itself. I’m afraid that kidnapping Ben was simply his attempt to remind me that he is far more powerful than I am. Although,” he says, turning to regard Sammy with a critical eye, “I can’t help but wonder why Lukas is under the impression that I’ve conscripted Ben to help undermine him.”

Sammy meets Jon’s gaze, even though his heart is hammering against his ribs. “I told Ben to look into Martin,” he admits.

Jon’s expression turns angry, but Sammy holds his ground. “You shouldn’t have to do this alone, Jon. I know that it feels like you need to just keep moving, that it’s somehow your fault and that means you have to fix it. But I promise, you need other people who will stand by you. Ben showed me this, and now I hope that we can show you.”

“I don’t want you to stand by me,” Jon snarls, jerking away from Sammy, “and I certainly don’t want your help. This isn’t your battle to fight.”

Sammy leans forward intently. “You need help, Jon. You’re not okay.”

Jon turns away. “None of this is okay.”

“No, it’s not,” Sammy says, cautiously placing a hand on Jon’s shoulder. Jon flinches but doesn’t push Sammy away. “But that doesn’t meant hat you have to let it consume you like this.”

Jon laughs a bitter, broken laugh and turns back to Sammy.

“But that’s just the problem, isn’t it? I already have. I made my choice, and now it’s too late. There’s nothing left for me. Tim and Sasha are dead, Melanie and Georgie want nothing to do with me, Basira wants_ me_ to starve to death, Daisy _is_ starving to death, and to top it off, I’ve driven Martin away! I’m either going to die of starvation or do horrible things to innocent people to survive, _and I can’t decide which would be worse!_” Jon shouts, collapsing in on himself. His entire body is shaking with each breath he heaves into his lungs.

Sammy goes to remove his hand, but the moment it leaves Jon’s shoulder the man lets out a wounded noise and tries to follow the motion. Sammy slowly replaces the hand and shifts to the other shoulder, so he’s got an arm loosely wrapped around Jon. It’s definitely awkward, but Jon clearly needs it. They sit like this for a moment, until Jon’s breathing slows to match Sammy’s.

Suddenly Jon shoots to his feet, wobbling just a little. “Daisy?” he asks breathlessly, and he takes off running to the cabin.

Sammy hurries to follow him, easily catching up to the shorter man as Jon dashes across the clearing. The sound of unfamiliar truck tires pulling up the driveway is clearly audible now, and it sends a spike of fear through Sammy. There’s no good reason for anyone with a truck like that to be out here unannounced.

Sammy and Jon careen through the cabin, crashing to a halt in the living room next to Daisy. Her face has gone pale and she’s leaning against the wall for support, but her hands are steady as they grip her gun.

She and Jon make meaningful eye contact, and Sammy looks back and forth between the two of them.

“The Hunt is here,” Jon says, clearly for Sammy’s benefit.

A car door opens, and a single set of footsteps crunches their way over the gravel towards the door.

“Stay back,” Daisy warns, gesturing for Sammy to move around the corner as she takes up a position by the door. Sammy complies, and Jon silently lays a hand on the doorknob, keeping an eye on Daisy for the signal.

The doorbell rings, and Jon throws the door open as Daisy steps out, gun raised.

“Who are you?” Jon demands, his voice resonant with power, and the man in the doorway stiffens.

“The name’s Freddie Osbourne,” he says. “Head Caretaker of King Falls Forever and leader of the local werewolf pack.” Sammy inches a little further around the corner to get a better look. Freddie’s standing in the open doorway, face to face with Daisy’s gun. He’s clearly unsettled, but not quite on the edge of fleeing.

“Cemetery’s an odd place for a servant of the Hunt to work,” Jon says pointedly.

Freddie shrugs. “Keeps us out of way, keeps the peace garden safe. Not many folks want to mess around with us nearby, not even the End.”

“Why are you here?” Daisy growls.

“To extend you an offer,” Freddie responds. “It’s the full moon tonight, and the pack is holding a hunt.”

“Absolutely not,” Jon cuts in, but Freddie just turns to him with a raised eyebrow.

“At least let her hear the rest of the details, Archivist. You don’t have all the information yet.” Freddie turns back to Daisy and shoves his hands in his pockets. Daisy waivers, her eyes narrowed, but the gun doesn’t drop. “It’s a clean boot hunt. Every month the pack hires a local runner to chase. They get an hour’s head start, and the hunt ends when we find them. Everybody walks away.”

Daisy lowers the gun, but Jon steps forward. Before he can ask anything, Sammy interrupts. “It’s true,” he says, stepping fully into the living room. “They’ve been doing it for years.”

“Archie volunteered this month. He’s got a new ATV that he wants to put through its paces,” Freddie offers, taking a small step forward.

Daisy pushes a stray bit of hair out of her eyes, visibly considering her options. Jon’s frown deepens, but he refrains from saying anything. The room is so quiet that Sammy could hear a pin drop.

Finally, Daisy straightens, putting down her gun. “I won’t know when to stop,” she warns, meeting Freddie’s eyes.

Freddie gives her a wolfish grin in reply. “Then we’ll teach you. You may be closer to the Hut than any of us, but there are twelve of us, and we run these woods every month. Archie will be safe.”

“I still don’t think it’s a good idea,” Jon grumbles.

Freddie turns to Jon, exasperation finally bleeding through onto his face. “It’s not your decision, Archivist.”

Daisy looks at Freddie. “You promise that you won’t let me hurt them?”

“I swear on the blood moon, huntress.”

Daisy nods. “I’m doing this, Jon,” she says.

Jon breaths a weary sigh. “Okay. Just, please be safe,” he says.

“I will.”

“We’ll bring her back here tomorrow morning,” Freddie says to Jon before offering Daisy his arm. She takes it, and he guides her to the truck.

Jon watches them go until they are far out of sight, standing alone in the open doorway. Eventually, Sammy makes his way over and quietly shuts the door.

“Freddie knows what he’s doing,” Sammy says quietly. “And Daisy’s got a good handle on things. It’ll be alright.”

“I know,” Jon responds. “I just don’t want to lose her.” He walks over to the couch and sits down heavily, sinking into the thick cushions.

“You two seem pretty close,” Sammy offers, taking the chair opposite Jon.

Jon gives a small smile. “Yes. Neither of us are who we want to be. Basira tries to understand, but… well. She’s only human.”

Sammy huffs a small laugh despite himself, and some of the tension in Jon’s shoulders drains away.

“Freddie is good people,” Sammy reassures Jon. “He and the pack have been protecting the town for years, and they even saved Ben’s life, once. Daisy will be safe with them.”

Jon makes tentative eye contact with Sammy and smiles a small but genuine smile.

“That’s good to know.” He pauses, then tilts his head slightly as if listening and gestures to one of the bedrooms. “I suspect Ben will be waking up soon. Shall we?”

Sammy stands, suddenly breathless. He strides over to the bedroom door, Jon following hot on his heels, and pushes it open.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The bit with Daisy was actually one of the first ideas I came up with while conceptualizing this fic and I'm really happy with how it turned out.  
Jon made a joke you guys! 
> 
> CW: Jon and Sammy have an argument about Jon's humanity or lack thereof, and Jon expresses that he can't decide whether it's better that he starves to death or that he lives but keeps hurting other people.


	7. Contrition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Jon,” Ben says, looking beyond Sammy to where Jon is still hovering awkwardly in the doorway, “What happens when you take a statement?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I've been slow at responding to comments lately, things have gotten really busy for me. Have an early chapter to make up for it?
> 
> Basira POV this chapter! 
> 
> CW this chapter for canon-typical beholding awfulness and characters making bad decisions, also threats of confinement; details in the end notes.

Sammy pushes open the door and rushes into Ben’s room. Ben’s breathing shifts as Sammy takes the five steps from the door to the bed, and as he nears, Ben blinks awake, scrunching up his face.

“Sammy?” he murmurs, and Sammy grabs his hand tightly, sitting down carefully on the bed next to him.

“Hello, Ben,” Sammy says through a watery smile. “How’re you feeling?”

Ben pushes himself further up the bed, careful not to let go of Sammy’s hand. He’s still a bit pale, but the blue tinge has faded from his lips, and his breathing is strong and regular.

“Tired? Nothing feels particularly worse than usual, but I feel like I could sleep for a week. I haven’t been this exhausted since – well. Since rescuing Emily, I guess.”

Sammy resists the urge to ruffle Ben’s hair. “You certainly took a good stab at it. You’ve been out for two days.”

“Two days?” Ben says incredulously.

Sammy squeezes his hand. “Yeah, buddy. We were worried about keeping you in the hospital, so we’ve been crashing with Jon and his friends in Herschel’s cabin.”

Ben’s eyes go wide, and he throws himself at Sammy, grabbing the taller man and shaking him by the shoulders. “Sammy, where’s Jon? I need – I have a message, I-“

Jon interrupts from the doorway with a polite cough.

“It’s quite alright, Ben. We’ve already received the message from Peter Lukas.” Jon’s tone starts out mild, but when he says Lukas’s name his voice drops into a sneer that sends a shiver up Sammy’s spine.

Ben frowns at Jon around Sammy, his shoulders drooping. “It was me, wasn’t it.”

“Yes, it probably was,” Sammy says, gently settling Ben back onto the pillows stacked at the head of the bed. Ben allows him to, though Sammy can see the moment when he considers resisting. Sammy’s tendency to mother-hen is well established, as is Ben’s reluctance to put up with it. “But Ben, really, how are you feeling? Any nausea?”

Ben actually does bat Sammy’s hand away this time, frowning in annoyance. “_Jack in the Box Jesus_, Sammy. I said I was alright earlier, just tired. What’s going on?”

“You didn’t come home, Ben. I didn’t know where you were or what had happened to you. You weren’t picking up your phone; you just _disappeared_. All I got was an anonymous phone call telling me to hurry to the boat ramps or you’d _die. _I thought I’d lost you, Ben.”

“Oh, Sammy,” Ben breathes, wrapping him in a tight hug. “I’m so sorry.”

Sammy sniffles into Ben’s shoulder. “It’s not your fault. I’m just glad you’re back.” He leans back, wiping the last of the tears from his eyes. Reaching over to the small nightstand, Sammy grabs the pill bottle and extracts a single pill before handing it to Ben along with a glass of water.

“What’s this?” Ben asks, his brow furrowed.

“It’s, uh. Potassium Iodide,” Sammy says. “Prescription from the hospital.”

“Wait,” Ben says slowly, holding the pill up close to his face before turning an incredulous look on Sammy. “Isn’t that – Sammy! What the hell? Are you trying to tell me that I have radiation poising?”

Sammy ducks his head, quite sure that his embarrassed look is answer enough. “Well, yes. Just chronic radiation syndrome, though. The radiation levels were low enough that you body can generally keep up on its own, the pill is just to help.”

“_Jack in the Box Jesus,” _Ben swears, downing the pill. His face scrunches up in distaste, and he quickly chases it with the rest of the glass. Sammy can’t tear his eyes away, watching Ben’s hands for any sign of unsteadiness when he leans over to set the glass back on the nightstand. When Ben turns back, his expression of distaste has turned to one of intense concentration.

“Jon,” he says, looking beyond Sammy to where Jon is still hovering awkwardly in the doorway, “What happens when you take a statement?”

Any pleasantness there might have been disappears from Jon’s face so fast that Sammy would be hard pressed to remember that it had been there at all.

“No,” Jon says coldly, backing away from the door, “I’m not going to take your statement.”

Ben sits up, putting a hand on Sammy’s shoulder for support. “But if you did, you’d be strong enough to help us rescue Jack, right?”

“It’s not that simple, Mr. Arnold.”

“Please, Ben, this really isn’t the time.” Sammy gently lifts Ben’s hand from his shoulder and tries to guide him back down, but this time Ben resists.

“I want to give you my statement,” Ben insists.

“Stop talking,” Jon snarls, crossing his arms across his chest. “I’ve been able to hold it off until now, but if you keep talking, _I won’t be able to stop it_.”

“Ben, please,” Sammy says as Jon turns and walks stiffly into the living room, but Ben shakes him off and lunges for the tape recorder sitting next to the bed.

“Statement of Benjamin Noah Arnold,” he says, slamming the record button and wrestling the tape away from Sammy. “Statement given freely by subject.”

Sammy’s flat out grappling with Ben now, but Ben is squirrely and manages to keep the recorder just out of reach. There’s a moment when Sammy just manages to get a grip on it, but he’s distracted by a pained noise from the other room and his grip loosens just enough for Ben to yank the recorder back.

Sammy throws a quick glance through the door and sees Jon on his knees, his hands fisted in his hair. His whole body is trembling, straining against some unseen force.

Ben makes a noise of triumph and finally wriggles out from under Sammy. His eyes are glazed, and an unsettling smile has wrapped itself around his face. He raises the tape recorder to his mouth and begins to speak.

“Statement Begins.”

****************

Basira’s phone rings just as she gets back to the car. Frowning, she puts down the pile of books she’d been holding on the passenger seat and fishes her phone out of her pocket. _Sammy Stevens_ flashes across the screen of her phone, and she hurriedly picks it up, ignoring the increasingly horrible scenarios working their way through her head.

“You need to get back to the house right away,” Sammy says in a rush, not even giving her the opportunity to say hello. “Ben made Jon take his statement.”

Basira swears and fumbles for the bluetooth attachment for her phone. “Hang on,” she says, settling it over her ear and starting the car. “Put Daisy on the line.”

Sammy doesn’t respond right away, and her grip on the steering wheel tightens. “Where’s Daisy?” she growls.

“She’s out hunting. It’s safe, I promise, she’s with the werewolves. We can talk about it later, but please, I don’t know what to do. I tried to separate them, but it only made it worse.”

Basira wants nothing more than to rip Daisy’s whereabouts from Stevens’s head, but the situation with Jon is more important right now. She lays on the horn when the car in front of her takes too long at a green light, thankful that her defensive driving course had included operating American cars.

The next few minutes pass in a blur, her attention split between the road and the details Stevens is giving her. By the time she pulls up the driveway, she can already feel the pull of the Eye. Sammy’s waiting for her at the front door, phone still clutched in his shaking hand.

“Where are they.”

“The bedroom,” he says as she brushes past him, bringing her full attention to bear on the scene before her.

Jon has collapsed to the floor just outside the bedroom door, his knees tucked up to his chest and his arms curled protectively around his head. He doesn’t look up when she walks by him.

Once she’s in the room, she can see Ben passed out at the end of the bed, clutching a still spinning tape recorder to his chest. He would look peaceful if his eyes weren’t still wide open, staring up at nothing. He’s breathing alright though, so Basira turns back to Jon.

Slowly, Basira reaches out and puts a hand on Jon’s shoulder. He flinches and looks up, but when he sees that it’s her, he averts his eyes and curls further in on himself.

“Please don’t hurt me,” he whispers in between ragged breaths. “I – I didn’t want to take it.”

She wraps a hand around Jon’s arm and gently pulls him to his feet. “It’s alright, Jon,” she says, passing him off to Sammy. “Let’s get you settled on the sofa.”

Jon is unresisting as Sammy leads him across the room and sits him down. Basira watches long enough to see Sammy wrap a heavy blanket around Jon’s shoulders before she shuts the door and turns back to look at Ben.

The touch of the lonely has almost completely faded from his skin, but she can see the pull of an ambiguous entity deep within him. It’s nowhere near strong enough to be a danger yet, however, so she pushes that knowledge to the side as she approaches.

It’s easy to gently peel the recorder out of his limp hands and shift him back onto the pillows. She’s almost startled by how much heavier than Jon he is, despite his being a few inches shorter. Basira runs him a fresh glass of water, and as she sets it down next to him, he blinks awake, Sammy’s name on his lips. When he sees her instead, his shoulders droop, and he buries his face in his hands.

Mollified by the display of contrition, Basira sets aside the lecture she had been preparing and instead waits for him to speak.

“I’m sorry,” he rasps, still avoiding eye contact.

“I’m not the one you need to be apologizing to,” Basira replies, handing him the glass of water. He takes it gratefully, and sips carefully as he continues.

“I’ll apologize to Jon and Sammy in a moment. They probably need some space right now.” Ben fades out of focus, staring off into the middle distance for a moment before shivering back into the present. “I didn’t think it would be like that,” he whispers, holding the mug close.

“There’s a reason we told you that Jon isn’t allowed to feed on live statements, Benjamin.”

Ben grimaces at her use of his full name, but he doesn’t correct her. “He tried to stop me,” he says.

“Yes.”

“I just wanted to help, you know? I thought that if I told Jon what happened, he’d be stronger, maybe even enough to help us get Jack back for Sammy. But once I grabbed the tape recorder I couldn’t stop.”

Basira sighs, not unkindly. Between his own guilt and his now unavoidable link to Jon, Ben will face punishment enough. Any admonishment from her at this point would be unnecessary, and quite frankly, she’s tired of being the only responsible one.

“Look,” she says. “What’s done is done. Jon won’t feel the need to feed on another live statement for a few days. In the meantime, I’ll allow him to help you try and get Jack back from the Dark, but only if he wants to.” Basira pauses and waits for Ben to meet her eyes before continuing. “But I need you to understand that if anything remotely like this happens again, I _will_ lock Jon in the root cellar, and you will not be allowed to contact any of us until we have left the country. Is that clear?”

Ben nods jerkily, still clutching the glass of water. Satisfied, Basira stands and walks towards the door. She’s got one hand on the doorknob when Ben speaks.

“Wait,” he says, and she pauses. “Would – would you really put Jon in the cellar?”

Basira does not look back. “Honestly, Ben, at that point he’d probably ask me to.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we were all so happy that Daisy got out of the house that we didn't think about the consequences. 
> 
> Everyone was pretty quiet after the last chapter, so let me know if you folks are still out there. (and if you've got any theories about the radiation poisoning! what's up with that?)
> 
> Stay tuned next week for a special appearance by the character I have most been looking forward to writing! 
> 
> CW: Ben forces Jon to take his statement, even after Jon has said no several times. Both Ben and Jon are severely affected by the incident. Basira tells Ben that if he allows Jon to take another statement then she will lock Jon in the root cellar.


	8. Jack in the Box

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Basira stretches out her legs, and her somewhat relaxed posture becomes laced with danger as she makes eye contact with both Sammy and Jon in turn. “Now, which one of you would like to tell me why Daisy wasn’t here to prevent this from happening in the first place?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had a heck of a week, but the chapter is finally here! This is when the chapter count is going to start to really grow.  
Please mind the updated tags
> 
> In this chapter: conversations are had (sort of), and revelations are made
> 
> CW this chapter: intense arguing, implied/referenced abuse, and non-graphic violence of a supernatural nature

Sammy looks up warily as Basira enters the living room, quietly easing the door shut behind her. She pads across the room and settles into the chair across from them, tucking her legs up in front of her. Next to him, Jon shudders in his sleep, and Sammy resumes running his hand through the other man’s hair.

“How is he?” Sammy asks once Basira has settled. She grimaces, reaching down for the mug Sammy had left out for her.

“As well as can be expected. It won’t be easy, but he’ll manage.” She takes a long sip from the mug, and her face wrinkles in confusion.

“Not tea?” she says with a raised eyebrow.

Sammy glowers at her. “I didn’t want to waste the clean water on mediocre tea that probably wouldn’t be up to your and Jon’s standards anyway, so hot chocolate it is.”

Basira snorts into her mug and smiles knowingly at him. “I doubt it would have mattered. Jon’s taste in tea has far more to do with the one who made it than the quality of the tea itself.” She takes another long sip from the mug before setting it on the table. “Come on. We should probably wake him up now.”

Sammy frowns and looks down at Jon. His face has gone slack in his sleep, smoothing out into an expression that could almost be considered peaceful if it weren’t for the restless rolling of his eyes. It’s the most relaxed Sammy’s seen him yet, and Sammy is loath to disturb him.

“Are you sure?” he asks. “He could really use the sleep.”

Basira shakes her head. “Jon may need to sleep, but I doubt that Ben wants the Archivist forcing him to relive his statement right now. He’ll have to face it eventually, but we can at least delay it a little, give him time to recover from giving it.”

Sammy’s ears perk up. “Does he really do that? Can he dreamwalk?” Thoughts of Jack and the void spring to the forefront of Sammy’s mind.

Basira’s frown tightens. “Yes.”

Sammy may not like it, but he knows that Basira is right. Removing his hand from Jon’s head, Sammy softly calls his name.

Jon doesn’t stir, remaining limp where he’s curled up next to Sammy. Sammy reaches down and gently shakes Jon’s shoulder. “Jon, you need to wake up.”

Jon’s eyes snap open, and the rest of him goes completely still.

“Jon?” Sammy asks. Even the rise and fall of Jon’s chest has ceased as he stares up at Sammy, unblinking.

“_Jon_,” Basira says sharply, and Jon lurches into motion, scrambling into a sitting position and turning to face Basira. The cold seeps into Sammy’s leg where Jon had pressed his head up against it in his sleep.

“Hello, Basira,” Jon says, his voice steady, almost challenging, and Sammy exhales in relief. Jon’s spine is already a litter straighter than it had been, and there’s a firmness to his voice that Sammy hasn’t heard before. “I suppose you would like to talk about what I did to Mr. Arnold.”

Basira sighs and picks up the mug, both Jon and Sammy watching her like a hawk.

“Jon,” she begins, her voice smooth and serious. “I want to start by reminding you that your current statement situation is unsustainable. But putting that aside, I also want you to know that what happened to Ben _wasn’t your fault_. I’m not going to punish you for something that was very clearly out of your control.”

Sammy can see that Jon wants to argue, and he puts a reassuring hand on Jon’s arm. Jon’s arm twitches, but he doesn’t turn to look.

“With this in mind,” Basira continues, “I think it would now be safe for you to leave the house. A live statement should sustain you long enough that you won’t feel the need to seek another out for a while. I want you, Sammy, and Ben, if he so wishes, to go into town some time tomorrow. I’m assuming you know a place?”

This last bit was addressed to Sammy, who nods. The library would have been ideal, but without a librarian, they’ll have to make do at the park. He nods. “Yeah, I know a place.” 

“Good.” Basira stretches out her legs, and her somewhat relaxed posture becomes laced with danger as she makes eye contact with both Sammy and Jon in turn. “Now, which one of you would like to tell me why Daisy wasn’t here to prevent this from happening in the first place?”

The muscles in Jon’s arm go tight under Sammy’s hand, and Sammy give it a light squeeze.

“You know what, Jon?” Sammy says, artificially bright. “Why don’t you go get a breath of fresh air. Basira and I can discuss this on our own.”

Jon turn a critical eye on Sammy, then looks to Basira, who shrugs.

“Very well then,” he says, levering himself up off the couch and making his way over to the door. “I’ll come back in when you’ve finished.”

Sammy waits until he hears the door shut behind Jon, then glares at Basira, who meets his gaze steadily and just a little curiously.

“Why don’t you want Jon here for this?” she asks, head cocked.

Sammy crosses his arms. “Because I don’t think either of us is going to get through this conversation without getting angry, and Jon doesn’t need to be around that right now.”

“He’s probably sill listening, even if he is outside,” Basira points out.

“Well, if he’s out there, then he at least gets to chose whether or not he listens,” Sammy bites back. “Doesn’t seem like he’s been allowed much of that lately.”

“Oh, not you too,” Basira says, setting her mug down on the table with slightly too much force. “The eye may be a demanding patron, but Jon-“

“That’s not what I’m talking about,” Sammy snaps, rising to his feet. “Don’t think I didn’t see how he reacted when you got here.”

Basira’s face darkens. “I wasn’t going to hurt him,” she says.

“But he didn’t know that! He was terrified of you, and people don’t react like that unless they have a reason.”

“What are you implying, Stevens,” Basira grinds out through gritted teeth. Sammy realizes that the edge of danger hovering around her posture has been screaming _law enforcement_, and his own reaction to her starts to make more sense.

“I think you know exactly what I’m implying.”

Basira’s on her feet now too, and she gestures emphatically as she argues. “I was keeping people _safe_.”

Sammy doesn’t bother to keep the disdain out of his voice when he responds. “Mmhmm. And does threatening to kill Jon keep people safe? How about locking him in the root cellar?”

“This is a complicated situation, Stevens,” Basira says, backtracking slightly. “Jon’s not human anymore-“

A burst of laughter forces its way out of Sammy in his shock. “So what if he’s not fully human? He’s still a _person_.” Sammy is absolutely livid now, in a way he hasn’t been in a very long time.

Basira takes a step forward, though she still keeps the coffee table between her and Sammy. “He could singlehandedly bring about the end of the world without even realizing it.”

“And he’s more likely to do that if you keep pushing him away! He needs _help_, not _punishment_.” Sammy spits out the last word, his hands shaking where they’re curled into fists by his side.

“And if he asks for help, I’ll gladly give it!” Basira shouts.

Sammy laughs hollowly. “He’s not going to ask for help if he’s _afraid_ of you.” He forcibly unclenches his hand and runs it through his hair, angrily pushing it back from his face. “I’m done with this,” he mutters, and stalks over to the door. Basira doesn’t say anything as he wrenches it open and leaves, letting it slam shut behind him.

Jon’s slumped at the table he and Sammy had been sitting at earlier, staring eastward into the night. Sammy shoves his hands into his pockets and walks over, letting the tension drain from his body as he does so. Jon looks up as he approaches, then goes back to watching the sky.

“How much of that did you hear?” Sammy asks sheepishly.

Jon shrugs. “You weren’t very quiet. I didn’t even need Beholding for much of it. “

Sammy winces. “Right, then. Well, I’m going for a drive. You want to come?”

Another shrug from Jon. “Why not. I could – I could use the space.

****************

Jon and Sammy are perched on the top of the town green, overlooking the high street of King Falls. Below them, townsfolk hurry back and forth on the sidewalks, illuminated by the warm streetlights as they hurry to finish the day’s errands before the chill sets in for the night.

Jon takes a long drag form his cigarette, blows out a smoke ring, and watches it float away into the night. Next to him, Sammy fidgets. The silence has been companionable so far, but the longer it stretches, the more restless Sammy seems to become.

A gust of wind comes in from the north, carrying with it the yipping and baying of wolves on the hunt. Jon takes a moment to Look for Daisy and cracks a small smile at what he finds. She’s running in the middle of the pack, and though the group as a whole exudes single-minded focus on the hunt, the haze of bloodlust is gone from her eyes, and her tongue lolls out the side of her mouth, flapping in the wind as she runs.

Suddenly the lead wolf skids to a stop, the rest of the pack piling up behind him. They watch intently as Freddie rises on his hind legs and scents the air, one ear cocked in each direction. Freddie sniffs twice, then drops back to all fours, growling. The relaxed demeanor of the hunt is gone in an instant, replaced by feverish intensity. Freddie lifts his head and howls before bursting into motion, the pack baying at his heels.

A sharp intake of breath from Sammy pulls Jon back into his body. Sammy’s jumped to his feet, and Jon hurriedly grinds his cigarette out int the dewy grass before joining him.

“What’s happening?” he asks, voice low and dangerous.

“I don’t – Oh no,” Sammy gasps, his jaw dropping. “_Jack in the Box Jesus_.”

“What?”

Sammy grabs Jon’s arm with one hand and points with the other. “It’s _Jack in the Box Jesus_.”

Down below, the situation is rapidly deteriorating. A wave of panic has swept through the pedestrians, who quickly lose all semblance of organization in favor of fleeing as quickly as possible. Behind them walks a figure, visible only due to the green glow that surrounds him.

“Oh my God,” Jon whispers in horror.

The figure advances, leaving a trail of darkness and sparking lightbulbs behind them that leads from the high street back to the edge of the park. They pass a transformer box, and even from a distance Jon can feel the electrical buildup before it explodes, plunging over an entire block into darkness. The first of the screams float their way up to Jon.

“What’s going on?” Sammy asks shakily.

A feeling of dread settles deep in Jon’s gut, and he laughs brokenly.

“This? This is the birth of the end of the world.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Welcome to Act III_  
This is now officially the longest thing I have ever written! Yay!   
I'll probably be going back and doing some light editing for style to the first few chapter this week now that I've settled into the story a little bit more, so don't worry if you see something change.
> 
> I have been waiting to introduce JITBJ since pretty much day one. It's about to get real, everyone. 
> 
> CW: Sammy and Basira argue about how she treats Jon, including how she threatens him with physical violence. Later, an entity appears in a heavily populated area, and though no one is visibly hurt onscreen, there is destruction of property.


	9. MAYDAY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Get in the car,” Sammy hisses, easing open the back door. “Hide under the blanket, and whatever happens, don’t come out. Do you understand?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter! This week: Sammy meets some old friends and makes a new one.
> 
> CW this chapter for violence of a supernatural nature, minor character death, aftermath of violence, threats, and physical violence. Details in the end notes.

Jon stares, transfixed by the chaos unfolding below them. Jack in the Box Jesus continues to advance, dragging the sickly, green light with him. A woman emerges from a storefront with her cellphone held up to her ear, unaware of the destruction in the streets until a neon sign above her pops and fizzles, sending sparks cascading down around her. She looks up, sees Jack in the Box Jesus, and screams, dropping her phone and sprinting in the other direction. She only makes it half a block before she trips and hits the ground hard. Jack in the Box Jesus passes her by, his green light washing over her before moving on. She doesn’t get back up. Sammy doesn’t remember her name, only that he’s seen her around town once or twice.

Jack in the Box Jesus looks up, makes eye contact with Sammy, and smiles. Sammy flinches backwards, gasping, but Jon doesn’t move, focused unblinkingly on the scene below. He’s gone still again, not responding to any of Sammy’s attempts to get his attention. It’s not until Sammy wraps a hand around Jon’s face and covers his eyes that Jon moves, collapsing like a puppet with its strings cut.

Sammy quickly slips an arm around Jon’s chest and guides him to the ground, maintaining a careful hand over his eyes. Jon’s breathing quickens, and Sammy holds him close, tucking him into his chest.

“Jon?” he whispers.

“I – I’m here,” Jon says shakily.

“If I let go, are you going to be able to walk? We need to get to the radio.”

Jon hesitates before answering, but he eventually nods. “Yes, I think so. Just don’t let go.”

“I won’t,” Sammy promises, leaning forward and helping Jon to his feet. Jon wobbles, but is ultimately able to stand under his own power. Sammy shifts the arm around his chest to his shoulders and tugs him back to the car, doing his best to ignore the noises from the street below. They’re only about five feet away when Jon suddenly digs in his heels.

“We have to go back,” he gasps, tugging ineffectually at Sammy’s arm. “We have to help them.”

Sammy’s gut twists painfully. “We can’t, Jon. There’s noting we can do down there.” Sammy hates himself for saying it, but it’s true.

“No!” Jon shouts weakly. “I can help them.” He starts to struggle against Sammy’s grip, and Sammy throws his other arm around him in an attempt to keep him still. It’s easy to pin Jon against his chest, but as he does so, Sammy feels his forearm _sink_ into Jon’s chest where there should definitely have been a rib, and Jon cries out in pain.

“Jon, I’m sorry, but we need to get to the radio,” Sammy pleads. “We can’t do anything for them down there, but we can call it in, get them help.”

“I can help,” Jon whimpers, but he stops resisting nonetheless. “I need to reach Martin.”

“We don’t have time, Jon. We have to get to the radio. You can talk to Martin later.”

Jon does not seem mollified in the slightest and starts to squirm again. Sighing, Sammy takes him by the shoulders and spins him around to look him directly in the eyes.

“You can call Martin later, I promise. But if you want to help those people, then we need to get to the radio _right now_.”

Jon flinches back a bit, but he does nod. Sammy maneuvers them the remaining distance to the car and carefully sets Jon down by the rear wheel well. He pops the trunk and turns on the radio, giving it the necessary moment to warm up.

The wind shifts, and the sounds from Main Street drift further away as a buzz of static from the radio fills the air. Sammy picks up the handset and flicks the button.

“Mayday, mayday, mayday. All stations receiving, this is Shotgun Sammy, over.”

There’s a moment of quiet before the radio crackles to life. “Shotgun Sammy, this is Hotel Bravo. What is your position and the nature of your distress, over.”

“I’m on the town green. Jack in the Box Jesus is loose on Main Street. I say again, Jack in the Box Jesus is loose on Main Street. Requesting immediate assistance, over.”

“Shotgun, this is Hotel Bravo, roger. Iron Tim is on his way to assist. Do not engage, I say again, do not engage, over.”

“Hotel Bravo, this is Shotgun Sammy. Wilco. Shotgun out.”

Sammy sets down the handset and takes a seat next to Jon, who is now shivering, his arms wrapped tightly around his chest, a cell phone cradled in a shaking hand. Down below, another transformer blows, and they both flinch.

Over the radio, Herschel starts to organize a response, and Sammy lets his attention shift over to Jon once it becomes clear that Lily and Mary have the situation well in hand.

“I don’t understand why you have such an old radio,” Jon says carefully. It’s not a question.

Sammy shrugs. “All the modern electronics in town got knocked out a few years back. Hershel realized his old walkie-talkie still worked, and when things started to go bad we got a few more and set up a network. It’s served us pretty well since then.”

Jon doesn’t respond, only nods, and Sammy’s about to break the quiet with a question about Jon’s ribs when Jon goes completely still, eyes fixed on a spot beyond Sammy.

“There’s a car coming,” Jon whispers. “Black SUV with tinted windows and no headlights.”

Sammy swears and scrambles to his feet, squinting into the darkness. Sure enough, Gunderson’s big black Chevy Suburban is approaching rapidly from the west.

“Get in the car,” Sammy hisses, easing open the back door. “Hide under the blanket, and whatever happens, _don’t come out_. Do you understand?”

Jon narrows his eyes like he’s about to argue, but Sammy cuts him off.

“Gunderson doesn’t know you’re here, and we need to keep it that way. You _can’t_ let him know that you’re here, not until we’re ready.”

Jon nods, clumsily climbing into the back footwell of the sedan. Sammy throws a blanket over him before quietly shutting the door and taking up a position by the radio.

Sammy’s got the handset in one hand and is pretending to fiddle with the antenna with the other when Gunderson pulls up. Feigning surprise, he sets down the handset and keeps his hands in plain sight as Gunderson exits the vehicle and strolls over, spurs clinking audibly, followed by a man that Sammy recognizes form their brief encounter outside of Rose’s. The man is still wearing his sunglasses, even in the dark.

“Hello Gunderson,” Sammy says mildly, doing his best to keep his fear curled deep in his gut rather than on his face.

“Good evening, Samuel,” Gunderson says in that slow, menacing drawl that never fails to make Sammy’s skin crawl. “I see you’ve come out to enjoy the… festivities.”

“Is that what you call this?” Sammy says, gesturing to the scene below.

Gunderson turns to look and smiles, the red, peeling skin on his face cracking as his lips curl. It’s hard to tell in the dark, but Sammy thinks that the angry burn across his face is larger than it had been the last time they’d talked.

“I wouldn’t be so quick to throw stones if I were you, Stevens. It’s not every day you get to witness the emergence of a new world power. And it sure is a sight for sore eyes, wouldn’t you say?.”

The man next to Gunderson lets out a quiet chuckle, and Gunderson tips his hat to him. “No offense to yourself, Mister Rayner.”

“Oh, none taken,” the man responds. “It’s always a pleasure to do business with a man such as yourself.”

When the man speaks, the hairs on the back of Sammy’s neck prickle, and he is almost certain that he’s being watched.

“I don’t believe we’ve been introduced,” Sammy says, holding out his hand.

“Oh my lord, where have my manners run off to,” Gunderson says, stepping forward. “Samuel Stevens, this is Gabe Rayner, a new associate of mine. Gabe, this is Sammy Stevens.”

“I’ve heard quite a bit about you,” Rayner says, reaching forward to take Sammy’s hand. “It’s good to put a face to the name.”

When their hands touch, the feeling of being watched vanishes abruptly. Rayner frowns and keeps hold of Sammy’s hand for slightly longer than can be considered polite.

“You’re an interesting man, Mr. Stevens. More _observant_ than I’d been led to believe.”

“I’m sorry,” Sammy says, taking a step back and crossing his arms. “But I can’t say I’ve heard of you, and I find it hard to believe that Gunderson has told you that much about me.”

Rayner laughs. “Oh, Judd here can barely stand to mention your name. No, my information come from a… closer source. Tell me, is your first thought in the morning still about Jack? Is he still the last thing you see at night? It would be touching, considering how rarely he thinks of you.”

Sammy sees red. He lunges for Rayner, drawing back a fist to plant in his smug, stupid face, but Gunderson gets to him first. All it takes is a nudge in the right direction and Sammy goes sprawling into the dirt, Gunderson’s boot planted between his shoulder blades.

“Now, now, Stevens, that’s not any way to treat a respectable gentleman,” Gunderson sneers as Rayner laughs.

Sammy braces his hands in the grass and tries to push himself up, but Gunderson just grinds his boot heel deeper.

“Such spirit, Mr. Stevens. I can almost see what Jack saw in you.”

“Don’t you fucking say his name,” Sammy growls, but Rayner just laughs again.

“He makes such an excellent tribute, you know. Not tied strongly enough to the Eye to be able to fight back, but just enough of a connection that we can make him last. Your Jack is _very_ good at being afraid, Sammy. Even better than you.”

Another wave of rage floods Sammy, and he tries to stand again but is no more successful.

“What do you want?” Sammy grinds out through gritted teeth. He can’t see Rayner, who has carefully positioned himself behind Sammy’s head, but he can hear him breathe.

“Just like I said before, Mr. Stevens. I only wanted to say hello. Shall we, Judd?” he says, and Sammy has a split second of freedom before Gunderson’s boot slams back down into Sammy’s ribs, driving the air from his lungs.

Sammy can do nothing but lay there, gasping and trying to remember how to breathe as the two men walk back to their car. They disappear back into the night leaving only the echo of the car’s engine, and Sammy suddenly realizes that the town below them has gone mostly quiet.

Groaning, Sammy manages to lever himself to his feet and stagger back towards the car. Jon meets him halfway, slipping easily under Sammy’s arm and guiding him back the rest of the way.

Sammy collapses on the still-open lip of the trunk and takes in the scene before him. Jack in the Box Jesus’s green glow is gone, replaced by the flashing red and blue lights of Katie’s team and the steady pulse of warm yellow light from Tim Jenson’s mech suit. Smoke rises lazily from a few buildings, forming a thick haze and obscuring the light from the full moon, but it doesn’t look like any of the fires have caught. A large swath of buildings have been cordoned off and the remaining citizens have been gathered near a cluster of ambulances and other emergency vehicles. Everyone near the first responders seems to be alright, but the woman who Sammy saw trip is still sprawled out across the sidewalk, not quite hidden by the white sheet draped over her body.

A gentle hand on his arm draws Sammy back into the present.

“You were staring,” Jon says, keeping his gaze carefully fixed on the ground.

Sammy shudders, but the horror still clings. “Gunderson’s getting stronger. Jack in the Box Jesus wasn’t nearly so destructive the last time he showed up.”

“That is no coincidence,” Jon says gravely. “The balance of power is shifting, and not in humanity’s favor. The Extinction has been growing for a while now, and while it may not have emerged fully tonight, it is likely to do so soon.”

Sammy leans back, letting his head thunk gently against the side of the car. “I need to call Lily,” he says, voice tight. “She needs to hear what Rayner said.”

Jon’s eyes light up, and he leans forward, grabbing Sammy’s arms. There’s an intensity to him that Sammy hasn’t seen before, and it sends a shiver of nervousness down his spine. Jon looks excited, but there is a tangible undercurrent of _hunger_ in his voice as he speaks. “I can do it,” he says with a halting laugh. “I know how to get Jack back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh dear. 
> 
> Gunderson is a terrible person but also kinda fun to write?
> 
> Thank you to everyone who commented on the last chapter! I love seeing everyone's responses :)
> 
> CW: JitBJ attacks downtown. The violence isn't graphically described, but Sammy watches a woman die and later sees her corpse. Sammy is threatened by two other characters, one of whom pins Sammy on the ground while the other threatens Jack.


	10. The Promise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ben’s shoulders slump even further. “I know,” he says quietly. “It just hurts that I wasn’t able to help. Again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's a bit short due to the holiday week, but it's here nonetheless!  
Finally some happy bits.
> 
> CW this chapter for offscreen minor character death, details in the end notes

“This feels like it’s happening too fast,” Ben grumbles, slumping down on the bench next to Sammy. He scuffs the ground with the toe of his sneakers but makes no move to further the conversation.

“Yeah,” Sammy says, ineffectively trying to rub the exhaustion from his eyes. He’d been able to catch a short nap earlier in the afternoon, but it hadn’t nearly been enough.

Suddenly, Ben throws his hands up in the air. “I mean, it took over a year of planning to Emily back. And this guy just walks into town and not even a week later he says he knows how to get Jack back? I don’t believe it.”

Sighing, Sammy turns to look at Ben. They’d let him sleep through the attack by Jack in the Box Jesus, and Ben had been extremely put out when he woke up to find Basira and Daisy examining Sammy’s bruised ribs only a few hours ago. He’d carried that anger all though their planning meeting, and Sammy could still see traces of hurt in his glare and the downturned set of his shoulders.

“I’m sorry we let you sleep through everything, but you were _really_ hurt, Ben. Peter Lukas almost killed you, and then the Eye or whatever forced you to give Jon your statement. We were really worried about you.”

Ben’s shoulders slump even further. “I know,” he says quietly, shifting to lean against Sammy and carefully setting his head on Sammy’s shoulder. “It just hurts that I wasn’t able to help. Again.”

“I know, Ben. I know.”

Sammy leans his head against Ben’s, and they sit in silence. The evening is quiet now, save for the distant chatter of the others shuffling goods in and out of Herschel’s root cellar. Sammy’s happy to soak in the quiet, but Ben soon becomes restless.

“You know,” Ben says with an amused smile, “I probably shouldn’t have been so surprised that Herschel had an actual fallout shelter hidden in his root cellar.”

Sammy laughs, and some of the tension he’d been holding for the past few days drains away. “We probably should have expected something like this after the Electrolocaust. It was a little too easy for him to get a hold of all those WWII radios.” He sighs, the next sentence sitting heavy in his heart. “And after the scare with Cecil, I don’t blame him. Not that Cecil is happy to be moving down there for the next few days, but Mary and the kids will be with him, and I think Dwayne convinced Kirk to stay below as well.”

“I still don’t like this,” Ben grumbles, burying his face in Sammy’s shirt. “Don’t like you and Jon going back up to _that place_ all by yourselves.”

Sammy wraps an arm around Ben and pulls him closer. “Lily’s coming too,” he says gently.

“Doesn’t make it any better.”

“This isn’t like last time,” he assures Ben. “I’m going to come home, Ben, I promise. The three of us are going to go up there, Jon is going to do his thing with the Shadowmaker, and Lily and I are going to get Jack back.” Sammy pours every bit of sincerity into the words that he can. He knows this is hard for Ben. Hell, he knows that it’s _his fault_ that this is hard on Ben. But if going back to the Devil’s Doorstep is what it takes to get Jack back, then Sammy will do it in a heartbeat.

“I just wish I were coming with you,” Ben sighs.

“I know, buddy. But the three of us can’t do our bit without you doing your thing here.”

Ben sits up, pulling his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms around them. “It’s like Aragorn at the Black Gate,” he says, and Sammy raises an eyebrow at him.

“You know,” Ben says, nudging Sammy sharply with an elbow, “drawing the eye of Sauron away so Frodo and Sam have a better chance of destroying the ring.”

Sammy lets out an amused chuckle. “A day may come when the courage of Ben fails, but it is not this day.”

“I know you’d seen Lord of the Rings, old man!” Ben crows, almost overbalancing on the bench in his excitement. It’s the first bit of genuine joy that Sammy has seen him display in a long time, and he wants to keep it for as far as he can.

“Well,” Sammy begins, “there is the distinct possibility that I may only have read the books…”

Ben turns wide, astonished eyes on Sammy, who does his best to bite back his laughter.  
“No,” Ben says, his voice barely above a horrified whisper. “Please tell me you’ve seen the movies.”

Sammy inevitably fails contain his laughter, and Ben’s eyes light up as the first laugh escapes him. “Sammy, you have to tell me about it. Wait – oh my god,” Ben says, grabbing Sammy’s arm insistently. He’s got that determined look in his eyes that Sammy recognizes, and Sammy preemptively buries his face in his hands.

“_Did you think Viggo Mortensen was hot?”_ Ben says all in a rush.

Sammy doesn’t respond, but he knows that the blush blooming furiously across his face is answer enough.

“Oh my God,” Ben whispers, his voice filled with awe. “You totally did.”

“Look,” Sammy begins, once he’s gotten his face under a semblance of control. “Jack and I both-“

A shrill tone from Sammy’s phone cuts through their conversation, and the relaxed atmosphere is gone in an instant.

_Second fatality confirmed_, the screen reads. _Four more expected overnight_.

Sammy swears softly and roughly shoves his phone back in his pocket. When he makes no further move to speak, Ben lays a comforting hand on his shoulder and waits. Eventually, Sammy drags his head up and looks at Ben.

“That was Tim,” he relays flatly. “The hospital just confirmed the first death from radiation poisoning.”

“Fuck.”

“… Yeah.” There’s not much more that Sammy can say to that.

“Sammy?” Ben asks hesitantly, looking up at him with serious eyes. “Please be safe tonight?”

Without a second thought, Sammy envelops Ben in a hug, clutching him close to his chest. “I promise I will do everything in my power to come back to you,” he says. “Just make sure that you’re still here for me to come back to, alright?”

Ben lifts his head. “I’m not going anywhere, Sammy. Besides, I gotta stick around so I can meet Jack, right?”

“Of course,” Sammy agrees, ruffling Ben’s hair despite his protests. A gust of wind picks up, and he shivers.

“It’s starting to get dark out,” he says, letting go of Ben and rising to his feet. “Basira’s probably looking for you, and I should go find Jon.”

Ben nods and stands determinedly. He blinks, surprised when Sammy offers him a hand, but he takes it with a small smile. Together, they turn and walk back to find the others.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wonder what the rest of the plan is... 
> 
> Tune in next week for a confrontation or two!
> 
> CW this chapter: Sammy is notified by text that a townsperson has died from radiation poisoning and that several more are also likely to pass in the immediate future.


	11. The Devil's Doorstep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Out of all of their ragtag group, Daisy is the only one who looks relaxed. Her eyes are constantly sweeping the surrounding area, but she’s standing loosely, hips cocked and hands shoved into the pockets of her too-large leather jacket.  
She looks up and raises an eyebrow at Ben, who blushes at having been caught staring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still here! Sorry that this chapter is a little late, but I have had a real heck of a week. I still plan to have a chapter up next weekend, but there's a chance it will be a day or two late as well. I want to really get into the next chunk of this fic before KFAM ep 100 comes out, especially if it's about what I think it will be. 
> 
> In this chapter: More conversations in cars (why do I always do this?), and the first appearance of The Dark! 
> 
> I don't think there's any specific content warnings needed for this chapter, but let me know if it needs one.

The drive to the church is uncomfortably silent. Ben fidgets nervously, but Dwayne doesn’t even seem to notice as he continues to stare out the window, his face locked in a melancholic expression. Despite Ben’s best efforts, Dwayne has sullenly refused to engage in conversation. He’d had an awful fight with Kirk before they left, and while Ben doesn’t know exactly what they’d fought about, the slump of Dwayne’s shoulders tells him an awful lot. Neither Basira nor Daisy deign to intervene, and so the car stews in silence, although Ben suspects that the two are sharing a wordless conversation of their own up front.

The tires crunch as Basira pulls the car off the road at their designated meeting place. Tim Jensen and Herschel are already waiting for them, Tim ensconced in his mech suit and Herschel with his rifle slung over one shoulder.

Basira cuts the engine, handing Ben the keys before opening the door.

“I know you need to be here,” she says, forestalling his affronted look with a glare, “but Sammy’s going to need you, after. When things in there go bad, and trust me, they will, you get yourself out of there and run here. Do you understand?”

The words sound kind, but Ben has heard a lot of hurtful words masked by kindness in his life, and these are no different. He snatches the keys and stuffs them in his pocket. “This is my fight, too,” he snaps, pointedly turning away and exiting the car with a huff.

Herschel’s there waiting, and he hands Ben a red jug of gasoline as soon as the car door is shut.

“Ready?” he asks, his gruff voice softening slightly.

Ben nods, and Herschel claps him on the shoulder just hard enough that it doesn’t _quite_ overbalance him.

They’ve gathered in a loose circle, Herschel and Basira each with an eye on their watch. Out of all of their ragtag group, Daisy is the only one who looks relaxed. Her ever-present focus is still there, but it hums quietly below the surface. Her eyes are constantly sweeping the surrounding area, but she’s standing loosely, hips cocked and hands shoved into the pockets of her too-large leather jacket.

She looks up and raises an eyebrow at Ben, who blushes at having been caught staring.

“Two minutes to go,” Basira announces. Herschel starts one last check of his gear, the movements small and practiced.

Tim himself may be standing still, but his armor shivers and shifts around him, drawing Dwayne’s attention. Although he’s probably more _The Dark_ at this point, Ben supposes. Growing up, Dwayne had always had a carefree attitude, but there’s no sign of it now. His easy smiles are gone, leaving behind only a carefully guarded face, haunted eyes, and a tendency towards vigilante justice. Dwayne covers it well with his bluster, but Ben can see the fear underneath. He’s seen it in Kirk too, and Ben can’t help but wonder what had happened to them while Dwayne was away.

He doesn’t get to examine it too closely, his attention drawn away as Basira and Herschel look up together.

“It’s time,” Basira says.

They fall in together in some semblance of order, Ben carefully encircled in the middle. He clutches the jug of gasoline and resolutely doesn’t think about Sammy. They’d timed it out carefully, and if Sammy, Lily, and Jon had kept to the schedule, they’d be just arriving at the campgrounds in Perdition Wood. A sense of dread settles in Ben’s gut, and he _knows _that something is going to go terribly wrong. He clutches the gasoline a little tighter.

The church looms ahead of them, its steeple stabbing high into the night sky. No light shines from the stained-glass windows, but Ben doesn’t doubt that there are people watching them inside. They pause at the edge of the property, and Herschel and Tim split off to circle around the back as arranged. Dwayne slips his mask over his face and settles into readiness.

Basira makes silent eye contact with those who are left and leads them to the front steps. Dwayne and Ben tuck themselves behind the pillars flanking the entrance as Daisy and Basira move to stand in front of the towering white doors.

Basira’s fingers count down from three, and Daisy raises her fist to knock.

****************

“How did you know it would work?” Sammy says, breaking the tense silence in the car. The nervous energy following their departure has quickly settled into prickly anticipation, and it saturates the entire vehicle.

“Hmm?” Jon turns away from the window with furrowed brows.

Sammy keeps his eyes on the road as he responds. “The plan. How did you know Basira would go for it?”

Jon smiles grimly. “Ah. She and Rayner have… history. As much as she doesn’t trust me, she hates Rayner even more.”

“She knows Rayner? How?” Sammy needs to keep Jon talking, anything to break the stillness. They would all need to be at their best if they were going to get Jack back and stewing in silence was not going to help anyone.

“It’s… complicated. She doesn’t know _this_ Rayner, but his previous host killed one of her teammates back when she was in the force.”

“Have you taken a host?” Sammy asks.

Jon shudders visibly. “No. Even if I wanted to, and I most certainly _do not_, that particular ability seems to be reserved for those more closely tied to an entity than me.”

“So your creepy boss, then?” Lily pipes up from the backseat. “Can he do that?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Sammy sees Jon go very, very still. The temperature in the car seems to drop a few degrees.

“I… had not considered that,” he says slowly. “Though I suppose that it would make a good deal of sense.”

“And my father, then?” Lily asks, low and quiet.

“I don’t know,” Jon says with a reluctant sigh, “but I wouldn’t be surprised if he were.”

Lily crosses her arms and stares mulishly out the window. So much for breaking the tension.

“Two minutes to arrival,” Sammy says with a quick glance at his watch. “Are you sure you can get us to the doorstep in ten minutes, Jon?” It’s not that he doesn’t believe Jon, not really. But Perdition Wood has a way of twisting your perception, and there’s an awful lot depending on them.

“I can see the way,” Jon says mildly. “It won’t be an issue.”

Sammy falls quiet. No one has said anything about Jack, but just the thought of him is enough to overwhelm Sammy. It’s a good thing he’s the one driving, or there’d be nothing tethering him to the present and keeping him lucid despite the overwhelming desperation that beats away in his chest. It feels impossible to be back _here,_ on the mountain again, only moments away from rescuing Jack. The consideration that they might fail never crosses his mind. He’s not sure why, but he _knows_ that Jon’s plan is going to work. He takes a deep breath as the certainty fills him, and he turns the car off.

“We’re here,” he announces unnecessarily, glancing again at his watch. “And right on time. The other should be approaching the church as we speak.”

“We can all tell time, _Shotgun_,” Lily snaps. “Get your ass in gear and let’s get going.”

Sammy bites back a sigh as he exits the car. They’ve all been on edge since the Magnus folks showed up, but Lily’s been even more acerbic than usual. It’d gotten a bit quieter when Sammy and Ben moved into the cabin, but she and Sammy still clashed whenever they were in the same space. Apparently even trying to get Jack back wasn’t enough for them to mend that bridge.

Jon makes a confused noise, and both Sammy and Lily’s eyes snap over to him.

“What’s wrong?” Sammy asks, his voice low and serious.

Jon shakes his head. “Whatever it is that the two of you have going on, you need to stop. I can’t find Jack if you’re so busy snapping at each other.”

Lily deflates slightly. “Sorry. It’s just – it’s been tough.” She looks up as Sammy with a genuine apology, and he blinks, surprised by the show of vulnerability.

“I – yeah. Me too. We’ll get him, though,” Sammy asserts, offering a small smile. “We’ll get Jack back.”

Lily smiles back, and whatever they did must have been enough, because Jon turns and starts walking into the forest.

The pace he sets is slow but steady as they cut an unerringly straight line through Perdition Wood. All around them the wildlife quickly falls silent, leaving them with only their thoughts and the sounds of their movement. It all happens faster than Sammy remembers, everything quieting at once, as though they’ve crosses an invisible line.

Next to him Lily shivers, and the two of them quickly pull out their flashlights while Jon forges ahead, heedless of the darkness surrounding him. Their lights are surprisingly dim, despite having been given fresh batteries right before they left. There is just enough light to warn them of roots and snarls, but it does little else to hold the darkness at bay. Sammy can hear the shadows calling to him and pulling him deeper into the forest, the whispers fading up into his awareness until he can’t quite remember when they’d started. There’s a brief moment when he thinks he hears Jack calling to him, and he almost strays from the path that Jon makes, but Lily’s hand on his arm pulls him back.

Ahead of them, Jon eventually slows. The Devil’s Doorstep stands before them, exactly as Sammy remembers. The dark stone of the overhang, and the creeping vines running up it, sinking their tendrils into every shadowy crevice. The darkness that reaches out, pulling him in until he can’t quite remember what sunlight feels like. Red eyes in the darkness, watching. Waiting.

Sammy reaches out blindly, and Lily takes his hand. Both of their hands are clammy, but at their touch the darkness seems to retreat, just a little. Ahead of them, Jon limps forward, coming to a stop just in front of the craggy entrance. He takes a deep breath, straightens his spine, and _speaks_.

_“**I see you**,” _he says, his voice reverberating around the clearing in a way that no human voice ever could. _“The shadows will hide you no longer, creature. I am here, and **I am watching you. Come out and face me**.”_

His words ring out into night, hanging on the air. The darkness in front of the Devil’s Doorstep _moves_, and the Shadowmaker laughs. Sammy and Lily shrink back, but Jon stands tall, facing down the behemoth that coalesces out of the shadows and towers above him.

“Hello, Archivist,” it sneers. “Have you come to join your fellow? We do enjoy watching the Eye scrabble in the darkness. It feeds us so _well_.”

_“**I see you**,”_ Jon repeats. “And **_I know you_**_.”_

The Shadowmaker roars, and the tops of the trees bend with the force of it, but still Jon stands tall. Angrily, the Shadowmaker slams a massive hand down on the clearing, instantly filling it with an inky darkness.

The moment the trees disappear, Sammy and Lily rush forward. Jon shouts something, and the Shadowmaker roars again, but Sammy and Lily have already passed them, darting into the mouth of the cave. The sound from outside is abruptly cut off, leaving them facing the unbroken darkness. Hand in hand, they stride forward to meet it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that happened. 
> 
> Huge thanks to everyone who's given comments/kudos, it's what really helps me push to keep writing when my life gets absurdly busy like it did this week. It really means a lot. 
> 
> Tune in next week to see the author struggle to differentiate between author and character knowledge when it comes to architecture of American churches! (And also some other important moments!!)


	12. The Archive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Suddenly, the brazier behind her bursts into flame, abruptly shattering the quiet with an angry roar. Basira whirls around just in time to see Ben startle and recoil backwards, dropping the jug of petrol in the process.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! Updates should resume their regular schedule. The chapter count will continue to fluctuate wildly, because while I have planned out the rest of the fic, I'm not entirely sure how it's going to break down into chapters.
> 
> I know I've got at least a few readers who don't listen to KFAM so I don't want to say too much, but I was at least a little uncomfortable with the way some of the characters were treated during ep100, and I just want to say that I will do my best to be fair to them here. 
> 
> Moving swiftly along, in this chapter: the crew encounters some old and new <strike>friends</strike> enemies
> 
> CW this chapter: graphic violence, injury, fire,

Before Daisy brings her hand down to knock, the door swings open of its own accord. The church is quiet in the way that only empty buildings are, and neither of them hesitates before slipping inside, moving in sync as easily as they always do. Daisy heads straight for the staircase to the balcony, and Basira approaches the double doors that lead into the sanctuary. She pauses briefly, putting an ear to the door. Nothing but silence echoes back at her, and she slowly eases the door open.

The space is more or less what Basira expected. Up in the balcony that wraps around the sides and back of the room, the light from her torch is reflected back in Daisy’s eyes as the hunter maneuvers easily through the darkness. The torch is the only light source in the entire space, despite the large windows that line each of the sides. A long center aisle cuts between two sections of benches, all facing a low platform at the opposite end. In the center of the platform sits a large stone brazier that looms ominously in the darkness. Basira walks silently towards the altar-thing, keeping a roving eye on the spaces under and between the benches as she passes.

Just as she reaches the top of the steps leading up to the platform, the doors swing open quietly behind her. She turns back and sees Ben and the younger Libbydale come into the room. Dwayne seems to have settled somewhat now that they’re actually doing something, but there’s still a resigned edge to him that makes Basira uneasy. He’s got a hand on Ben’s shoulder, who is still clutching the jug of petrol, though he seems less jittery than before. She hasn’t quite decided how she feels about Ben. He has drive and enthusiasm to spare, but there’s something unfinished about him, like he hasn’t had the chance to fully prove himself. She’d respect it, if it wasn’t so likely to manifest as recklessness in their current circumstances.

Basira nods to him when they reach her, and he takes a determined breath before starting to pour out the petrol. The sound of the oily liquid spilling out on the carpet fills the otherwise empty space.

Taking a moment of the quiet to glance up at Daisy, Basira flashes her a quick hand signal to check in. Daisy signs back an immediate confirmation that she’s cleared the balcony and will be maintaining a position up high to keep an eye out. Basira shoves down the unpleasantness that twists through her stomach and nods back. There’s no place for personal feelings when out on a job, but she doesn’t like having Daisy be so far away. If anything were to happen… but Daisy can take care of herself. She’s already much stronger than she had been when they’d arrived.

Suddenly, the brazier behind her bursts into flame, abruptly shattering the quiet with an angry roar. Basira whirls around just in time to see Ben startle and recoil backwards, dropping the jug of petrol in the process. The liquid sloshes out, rapidly pooling towards the base of the brazier. There’s a good distance between it and the black flames, but Basira doesn’t want to take any chances, grabbing Ben’s sleeve and hauling him backwards. He follows easily, and the two of them rush down the steps, followed closely by Dwayne.

Once they’ve reached a safe spot in the middle of the aisle, Basira chances a look back. The black flames have grown taller and louder, and every so often they flicker and sway sharply to the side as if buffeted by a strong wind.

“We still need to light it,” Ben whispers next to her.

On her other side, Dwayne flicks open an old lighter and hefts it to throw.

“Do it,” Basira orders, and he draws his arm back.

“Hello, Detective,” drawls a voice from behind her, and Dwayne’s arm drops. The voice has that same smug sprawl that Elias’s does, despite being distinctly American. She turns to find that it belongs to man of medium height, wearing a dark peacoat and sunglasses.

“You’ll be Gabe Rayner, then,” Basira says, bringing her gun up but not yet pointing it directly at him.

“It’s good to see you again,” he says, a smile spreading across his face. “Though I was surprised that you made your way all the way out here.”

Basira sends him an ugly grin back. “I would I could say the same of you.”

Rayner just laughs, and next to her Basira can see Ben go tense. She starts to place a steadying hand on his shoulder, but he jerks away.

“Plenty of us don’t like you either,” he snaps, taking a step forward and puffing up all of his five foot three frame. “You’ve been nothing but poison to this town since you got here, and now we’re finally able to do something about it.”

Rayner’s laugh peters off, but it’s clearly not out of any respect for Ben.

“That’s quite the declaration, Benny-boy. I’d be careful if I were you; wouldn’t want you to get too big for your britches.”

“Did you want anything?” Basira calls out, heading off Ben’s indignant retort before it can progress beyond unintelligible noise. “Or did you just come to watch your house burn?”

Rayner shrugs. He opens his mouth to reply, only to crumple ungracefully to the ground, revealing Daisy standing behind him with a length of pipe clearly ripped from the old organ. The back of his head is misshapen form the force of the blow, and he’s clearly not getting up again any time soon.

“Come on, let’s get this moving,” Daisy says, gesturing at Dwayne, who deftly flicks the lighter back open and lobs it into the center of the petrol. It goes up instantly, the orange flames bathing the sanctuary in sickly light. Thick black smoke billows upwards, collecting in the peaked roof and obscuring the dark flames still writhing in the brazier.

“What about him?” Ben asks, and it takes Basira a moment to realize that he’s talking about Rayner.

“Oh, him? Let him burn.”

It soon becomes clear that the fire has caught successfully and isn’t going out any time soon, so the group retreats back towards the main entrance, the flames having engulfed the front of the room.

They pass through into the little entry room, and Ben reaches for the door handle, but this time it’s Dwayne who yanks him back.

“There could be more of them out there,” he hisses, gesturing back at where Rayner’s is still crumpled on the floor. “We need to be careful.” Reaching over Ben, he gives the door a gently push. Sure enough, a hail of bullets shreds through the door the moment it swings open, sending chunks of it splintering into the air. The force of it slams the door open, but it bounces off the wall and rebounds far enough that Dwayne can tug it shut again. They all duck back, gathering in the center of the parlor. Basira grabs the key off the top of the coat rack without thinking and locks the door.

“Where are Tim and Herschel?” Ben asks, looking around frantically.

This isn’t the time to reassure him. “If they’re not here yet, then we can assume they won’t be coming,” she says brusquely.

“But-“

“We can’t do anything to help them until we get out of here ourselves,” Basira says before turning back to Dwayne. “How fast is the fire spreading?”

Dwayne pulls the door open just a crack and peeks in. The gap can’t be more than a few centimeters, but the blast of heat that forces its way through makes the hairs on Basira’s arm stand on end. “It’s moving quickly, but we should have at least a few minutes before it gets through theses doors. This building isn’t as old as it looks.”

Unfortunately, time won’t help them with their problem outside. Unless Jon succeeds at the Devil’s Doorstep, all they can do is delay the inevitable.

****************

The moment Jon Sees Sammy and Lily disappear through the darkness into the cave, he redoubles his efforts against the creature standing above him. He tears through a layer of shadows, and it throws up another in its place, buffeting him with the force of it. It hadn’t been nearly this difficult when he had destroyed the dark sun, but then again, the sun couldn’t fight back.

Snarling, Jon shreds another two layers of shadows, and the creature swings a massive fist at him, knocking him back across the clearing. His eyes involuntarily blink shut as he slams into a tree, and by the time he can get them open again the monster has replaced the two layers of shadow and thrown up a third for good measure. His shoulders slump, and the creature laughs.

“How can you know me, Archivist, when you don’t even know yourself? You’re almost complete, and you have _no idea_ what you’re doing.”

“I know enough,” Jon growls, pulling himself to his feet. “I know that you’re a monster.”

The creature laughs again and bends down so that it is face to face with Jon. “I may be a monster, but so are you. At least I have the benefit of knowing what kind of monster I am.”

Jon lunges forward, reaching out to tear the shadows from its glowing eyes, but it avoids him easy and straightens to its full height. He’s readying himself for another attack, when suddenly the creature _screams_ and crashes to its knees. Jon is distantly aware of orange flames licking their way up white columns, and he takes the opportunity to turn the full force of his gaze on the creature.

“**_What do you know about me?_**” Jon Asks, and the creature’s scream collapses into a ragged sob. He can feel it struggling against him, and he mercilessly rends the shadows surrounding it and asks again.

“**_What do you know about me?_**”

The creature keens, pinned under the weight of Jon’s gaze, and turns its head to look at him. “You are… the Archive. It is no secret to us, and yet you cannot see.”

Jon takes a step closer. “**_What is the Archive_**.”

“No!” the creature snarls, staring up at Jon defiantly.

“**_Tell me_**.” Jon grits his teeth and pushes every ounce of compulsion he can muster into the demand.

The creature pushes back, and there’s a moment when Jon’s not quite sure that he’ll succeed, and then the creature _shatters_.

Black lightning arcs out from the echo of its chest, and the solid remnants of its form explode outwards, pulled forcefully into reality by the power of the Beholding. Shards of black glass slice through the air, embedding themselves deep in whatever stands in their path.

One catches Jon in the thigh, driving him down flat on his back. He bites down a scream and watches the rest of the shards fly by overhead. When the last of them falls to the ground with a clatter and the forest falls still once again, he carefully levers himself into a sitting position.

The shard is lodged in the outside of his thigh, it’s surface already slick with his blood. Bracing one hand on the ground, he grasps the shard with the other and pulls. His hand slips on the smooth, wet surface, and it bites into his palm. Drawing in as deep a breath as he can, he tightens his grip and yanks it out. All told, it’s longer than his hand and exactly seven centimeters across at its widest point. He drops it on the grass and looks away, his stomach turning at the sight of his blood seeping from the wound.

Jon bites his lip to keep from screaming as he levers himself to his feet and takes an unsteady step towards the mouth of the cave. He manages another step before he registers the grey creeping in at the edges of his vision. Leaning down, he tries to lower himself to the ground, but it’s too late. The ground heaves under him and he collapses with a heavy thud, landing forcefully on his injured leg. He tries to scream, to call out in hopes that Sammy or Lily might hear him, but his lungs won’t work correctly. The last thing he is aware of is the trees shuddering above him before everything goes dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tune in next week for Our Boy Jack!!!
> 
> Comments/kudos appreciated :) 
> 
> CW details: daisy kills a man with a pipe, a group of characters is trapped in a burning building, there's a graphic depiction of a leg injury sustained by Jon, who passes out.


	13. The Eagles Are Coming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The cloying darkness inside the Devil’s Doorstep burrows under Sammy’s jacket and seeps up through the soles of his shoes. Sammy shivers in the cold, and Lily gives his hand a quick squeeze. The darkness is so complete that he can’t see her, not really, and their clasped hands are the only source of warmth that Sammy has.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fasten your seatbelts everyone. 
> 
> CW at the end of the chapter

The cloying darkness inside the Devil’s Doorstep burrows under Sammy’s jacket and seeps up through the soles of his shoes as he and Lily carefully slosh through the shallow water covering the floor of the cave. Sammy shivers in the cold, and Lily gives his hand a quick squeeze. The darkness is so complete that he can’t see her, not really, and their clasped hands are the only source of warmth Sammy has.

Their flashlights are long gone, lost in the initial tumble into the cave. They managed to keep hold of each other’s hand, though, and it’s the only reason Sammy trusts that it’s actually Lily walking quietly next to him. 

Neither of them dare to speak aloud. With every desperate beat of his heart, Sammy fights the urge to call out for Jack. There are red eyes lurking in the corner of his vision, the same ones he sees in his nightmares. They vanish when he turns to focus on them, but they blink back into sight as soon as he’s looking elsewhere.

A noise off to the left brings Sammy and Lily to a sudden stop. In the ensuing quiet, the sound is almost distinguishable as a voice, but neither of them can quite make it out. Another one joins it from the right, and Sammy unconsciously shifts closer to Lily. It’s not words that either of them can understand, the voices coming together to form a chant nearly as old as the world itself.

More voices pick up the chant, until their song is so loud that Sammy can barely hear his own thoughts. Mesmerized, he takes half a step forward until Lily yanks him back, tightening her grip on his wrist almost to the point of pain.

The red eyes are gone now. Sammy desperately looks around for some sign of Jack or the entrance or anything, but the darkness is too thick. An icy wind cuts through the cave, and Sammy and Lily turn in to face one another, shielding their exposed faces from the worst of it.

The chanting grows louder, and the stone of the cave begins to hum. Sammy can feel the vibrations through his feet, and the surface of the water grows choppy where it laps against his ankles.

Suddenly there is a bright flash of light, and the chant starts to fall apart, some voices collapsing into screams, others disappearing entirely. Sammy and Lily flinch, their eyes blinking shut at the sudden brightness.

There’s another flash, and this time Sammy has enough of his wits about him to get a glimpse of the cave. A vaulted ceiling arches high above them, roughly hewn from the mountain stone. The cave itself is massive, open space stretching away into the distance as far as Sammy can see.

Before Sammy can register anything else the light is gone, but Lily’s already pulling him away.

“There’s something over there!” she shouts, barely audible over the chanting. Sammy lets her lead him, struggling to keep his footing on the slick rocks.

The flashes continue as they forge ahead, and sure enough, Sammy catches glimpses of a small outcropping of rock rising out of the water. It’s no more than knee-high, all jagged corners and sharp edges. Another flash of light reveals a figure slumped face-down across one end of the rock. Sammy breaks out into a run, Lily hot on his heels. The light is too intermittent to know for sure, but it has to be Jack. It has to be.

Sammy collapses at the foot of the altar, Lily right next to him. The flashes are more frequent now, and the figure is obviously Jack. Sammy would recognize him anywhere. He’s wearing the same jeans and shirt that he’d disappeared in, though they’re now much the worse for wear. Sammy lays a hand on his side, the wet shirt cold and clammy underneath his skin, but Jack doesn’t react.

The chanting abruptly goes silent, and a dim light from the entrance fills the cave, reflected up off the water. Sammy doesn’t hesitate, gently lifting Jack of the rocks and into his lap. Jack’s pulse beats slowly but steadily under his fingers, and Sammy sobs in relief.

“He’s alive!” Sammy whispers breathlessly, starting to brush Jack’s damp hair back from his face. “Lily, he’s still alive!”

Sammy abruptly stills. Behind his lank hair, Jack’s face is wan and drawn. Tracks of dried blood streak down his cheeks, and Sammy’s eyes follow them upwards to the stained blindfold tied across his face. Sammy reaches out to touch it, but Lily bats his hand away.

“Wait,” she hisses. “We don’t want to make it worse.”

Sammy reluctantly agrees, settlings for gently brushing a finger over Jack’s cracked lips instead, Jack’s breath ghosting across the pad of his finger.

Suddenly the ground underneath them shifts, and Sammy looks up in alarm. Ripples cut across the surface of the brackish water, and a rain of dust starts to fall from the ceiling. Sammy lurches unsteadily to his feet, cradling Jack in his arms.

“We’ve got to get out of here!” He yells to Lily, who is already standing next to him, one hand braced against his back.

“Hurry up and move, then!” she shouts back, barely audible over the growing rumble of the cave around them. 

They stumble in the direction of the doorway, struggling against the heaving floor. The debris falling from the ceiling is larger now, and Sammy swears violently as a rock the size of his ribcage crashes down next to him, narrowly missing his shoulders. The impact throws him to his knees, but Lily hauls him to his feet with a determined yell.

They emerge from the cave together, sinking to their hands and knees as soon as they’re out from under the rock. The tremors are much less violent now, but the ground is still unsteady. Curling his body protectively around Jack, Sammy looks around for Jon.

“Stay here,” Lily says, suddenly right next to him. “I’ll get Jon.”

Sammy tucks himself closer around Jack and prays. His parents never took him to church and he’s never been one to believe in a higher power, but if there is anything remotely benevolent out there, Sammy beseeches it for help. He’d spent enough time on the West Coast to know that earthquakes were a possibility, but he’d never imagined it like this. They’re too exposed up here on the mountain. The clearing is small enough that they’ll never be able to get out of the way if a tree falls, let along be able to escape if the top of the mountain comes down on them. 

A tug on his leg distracts him, and he turns his head to see Lily dragging a prone Jon up to lay next to him.

“He’s hurt pretty bad,” Lily yells. “I’m going to try and stop the bleeding.”

Sammy can’t see much beyond his own narrow focus on Jack, so he nods. Until the tremors subside, there’s very little any of them can do.

****************

Ben drops to his hands and knees the moment the tremors start, Dwayne right beside him.

“Get down!” Ben shouts, tugging on the cuff of Daisy’s jeans before casting his eyes around for cover. Thankfully, the cult had kept most of the church’s original furniture, and there’s a large, sturdy table next to the entryway. He crawls over to it and tucks himself underneath, grabbing hold of a table leg with one hand and covering his head with the other. Only once he’s situated does he look back to the others. Dwayne is already under the table, and Basira and Daisy are close behind, Basira having pulled the lower section of her hijab up over her mouth and nose to keep out the dust and smoke that are already starting to gather in the air.

Above them the building groans, and Ben tucks himself further underneath their little shelter. The quake isn’t devastatingly strong, but the church is old and already weakened from the fire. It’s going to come down eventually, and Ben would rather not be exposed when it does.

Sure enough, within moments the building gives a terrifying shudder, and the wall between the entryway and the sanctuary is pulled down as the ceiling collapses. Flames shoot up into the night sky, and the group collectively flinches back from the surge of heat.

Through a gap in the jagged timbers overhead, Ben sees a trio of white lights streaking across the sky towards Perdition Wood.

“We need to get out of here!” Dwayne yells, struggling to speak amidst a bout of coughing. “The building’s about to come down!”

“We don’t know if the sniper is gone!” Basira shouts back. “It’s not safe!”

Ben resists the urge to yell. He’d much rather take his chances with whoever’s behind those guns than with a building that’s definitely going to come down on him, but he really doesn’t want to argue with her.

“It’s not safe in here either,” growls Daisy, moving to the edge of the table.

Basira reaches out and grabs her arm. “Daisy, no,” she pleads, but Daisy shrugs her off.

Suddenly the door is thrown open, revealing none other than Herschel, his shotgun propped over one shoulder.

“Get your sorry excuses for an arsonist asses in gear and get out of there!” Hershel yells. “This building’s gonna come down any minute!”

They hurry to comply, scurrying forwards as quickly as they can while the ground rolls underneath them.

Once they’re outside, Ben grabs Herschel’s shoulder and points towards the mountain.

“Did you see the lights?” he shouts. “Do you know what they are?”

Hershel sets his jaw. “Oh, I saw them, alright. Don’t have a damned clue what they are, but Tim sure didn’t like them. He turned tail as soon as they appeared. I ain’t never seen anything like it, not other than the rainbow lights.”

As Ben opens his mouth to respond, a cloud of smoke shoots up form the mountaintop, and moments later the sound of an explosion tears through the town.

“Sammy!” Ben screams, falling to his knees. He can’t breathe. Herschel is there, trying to gather Ben into his arms, but Ben shoves him away. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. He’s shaking uncontrollably, and it feel like his heart is trying to beat its way out of his chest. Sammy’s gone. He’s-

Ben folds in on himself, sobbing.

Behind him, the church gives a final groan, and collapses.

****************

Up on the mountaintop, a strange humming noise catches Sammy’s attention. He looks up, and sees a trio of white lights approaching rapidly, cutting a straight line through the night sky directly towards their position. He turns and grabs Lily’s arm, shaking it slightly to get her attention.

“We need to hide,” he warns, pointing at the lights.

But it’s too late. The craft slow to a halt and settle in the clearing, the largest hovering just above the ground. Sammy’s stomach sinks as he takes in it’s horrifyingly familiar triangle shape. With a loud hiss, a gangplank drops down, flooding the clearing with cold, white light. RoboTim and EmBot step forwards from either side of the craft, each with some sort of laser rifle at the ready.

Sammy stiffens and folds himself more closely around Jack. Next to him, he sees Lily reach for the hunting knife she’s taken to hiding in her boot.

“Hello Samuel, Miss Wright,” Gunderson drawls, walking steadily down the gangplank.

“Fuck off, Gunderson,” Sammy shouts back.

Gunderson laughs. “Always so polite, Shotgun. Now I am willing to leave, but I would appreciate y’all doing me a favor first. You see, you folks have something I want. Hand over that pretty little Archivist, and the two of you can walk away free.”

“You can’t have him!” Lily snarls back, startling Sammy. “You’re not the sheriff here any longer.”

A smile spreads across Gunderson’s face, slow and predatory. “I think you’ll find, Miss Wright, that being sheriff matters very little.”

EmBot raises her rifle, and fires. A bolt streaks across the clearing, striking Lily, who collapses next to Jon, the knife slipping from her suddenly slack grip.

Sammy cries out, scrabbling backwards and pulling Jack’s limp form to his chest as the robots stalk forward.

“What did you do?” he shouts hoarsely, looking desperately between EmBot and Gunderson. He can’t lose Jack again, not like this.

EmBot bends down and easily slings Jon’s unconscious body over one shoulder, then turns her rifle on Sammy as RoboTim reaches out for Jack.

“No, please,” Sammy begs, his tears falling freely now. “Please don’t take Jack.”

Gunderson looks at Sammy contemplatively. “Would you rather we take the girl?” RoboTim stills, his metal hand wrapped around Jack’s upper arm. Despite the skin covering it, the robot limb is freezing cold where it brushes against Sammy’s shoulder.

“Please,” Sammy repeats, holding on to Jack as tight as he can. “Please don’t take them from me.”

He doesn’t even have the energy to be surprised when Gunderson nods. EmBot and RoboTim withdraw back to the ship, EmBot keeping her eyes trained on Sammy the entire time. Sammy sucks in a ragged breath, sagging in relief as he watches the craft prepare for flight.

Just as the door starts to slide shut, Gunderson says something to EmBot, and she raises her rifle, looks Sammy dead in the eyes, and fires.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah. I'm sorry? 
> 
> CW for natural disaster (eathquake), violence, panic attacks, fire.


	14. Hunger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon returns to awareness slowly, which is in a rarity in and of itself.  
“Martin?” he murmurs, relaxing into the other man’s touch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all, sorry I was a week late with this chapter, especially after how the last one ended. All the end-of-year and holiday stress finally caught up with me and I was pretty much flattened for all of last week. I'm going to try and switch back to Friday night updates for a bit, and that should help things. 
> 
> A huge thank you to everyone who's left comments/kudos so far. This work passed 100 kudos last week, and I am totally blown away. All of your responses mean so much to me :)
> 
> shoutout to kettleconfetti who predicted some of these events a couple of chapters back!
> 
> This chapter also has Bad Things. Next one will be better, I promise. 
> 
> CW for torture, violence, panic attacks, withdrawal. See end notes for more details.

Jon returns to awareness slowly, which is in a rarity in and of itself. The air around him is cold and damp, but he’s curled on his side, his upper body propped up on something, no, _someone,_ soft, and a large hand rests gently on his shoulder. It’s a rare treat to wake up under his own power and not be thrown violently from someone else’s nightmare, and he savors the moment.

“Martin?” he murmurs, relaxing into the other man’s touch. That doesn’t quite make sense, but he can’t figure out who else would be touching him like this. The hand still abruptly, and as Jon’s faculties return to him, he suddenly realizes that the hand isn’t quite the right shape to be Martin’s.

“I’m afraid not, buddy.”

Jon is halfway across the room before the man has finished speaking. His effort is impeded somewhat by the handcuffs connecting his wrists, but he manages to scramble away, not stopping until his back hits the opposite wall. It’s not nearly far enough away to be safe, but it’s all he can do. All at once he crashes back into awareness, the wound in his leg throbbing in time with his racing heart.

“_Where am I?”_ he gasps, fighting for air as he teeters on the edge of hyperventilating. The cold steel against his back is a welcome distraction from the sudden onslaught of memories of Nikola’s waxy hands on his skin and soreness from having his jaw forced open around the gag.

The man frowns, though there’s something about his face that make his concern look genuine. “I’m not sure where we are exactly, but I think it’s safe to assume we’re somewhere in the Science Institute, since they’re the ones who grabbed me in the middle of the night.”

The man’s gaze flicks down to the rough bandage tied over Jon’s trousers and back up to the sheen of sweat on his scared face and arms. “Hey, are you alright? I didn’t mean to startle you earlier, but you were crying out in your sleep, and I figured that I’m at least better than the floor, yeah?”

Jon notes the faint touch of the desolation on the and files it away, focusing instead on taking stock of himself and his surroundings. His gaze skitters across the room, if it can even be called that, taking in the dirt floor and the corrugated steel walls arching up into the ceiling. There’s enough room that he could probably stand, but Martin would have to duck or risk hitting his head. He reaches out to the Beholding for more information, but nothing comes to him. Confused, he reaches out again, more forcefully this time. Static crashes down on him, and Jon bites back a pained whimper. He drags his head up from where he’d braced it against his hands and turns the force of his gaze on the other man.

“_What did you do to me?_” he growls, low and dangerous, the full weight of compulsion dripping from his tongue.

The man shifts backwards and raises his hands placatingly. “Woah there, buddy, I didn’t touch you, I swear. All I did was put a hand on your shoulder after I took out that gag, I promise. Are you sure you’re alright?” He points at a pile of ragged cloth near where Jon had woken up, and Jon recoils backwards at the realization that someone had shoved that in his mouth.

“No, I am certainly not _alright_!” Jon snaps, his fear twisting into anger. He’s sitting barefoot on a cold floor without so much as his shirtsleeves and this man has the _audacity_ to ask if he’s alright. He feels horrible and wrong all over, the absence of Beholding leaving him feeling alien and empty. A terrible hunger rises in his gut, begging to be released. It would be so, so easy to turn it on the other man, but Jon _can’t_. Not until there’s no other option.

A door creaks open somewhere beyond their little room, and Jon abruptly remembers that the man across from him is not a threat. The thing stalking down the hallway, however, is.

Heart pounding, Jon shoves himself into the furthest corner from the door. The other man does the same, his bare shoulder brushing Jon’s as they squeeze into the small space. Across from them, the door creaks open, letting more light into their little space.

“Hello, Archivist,” says RoboTim, standing silhouetted in the doorway. “The Director would like to speak to you.”

Jon doesn’t move. Better to find out the punishment for disobeying now than to wait in fear of it. The other man looks nervously back and forth between him and the robot, but he doesn’t say anything.

RoboTim makes a noise almost like a sigh and steps through the doorway, its eyes shifting to blue in the dimmer light. “Your cooperation is not necessary, Archivist, but your compliance will be ensured. Please do not resist.”

“Fuck off, Timbot,” the other man snarls, rising to his feet.

RoboTim turns to him and cocks its head, fixing a mild expression on its silicone face. “Hello, Kirk Thompson. Please do not attempt to prevent me from taking the Archivist to see the director. I would not want to have to hurt the fiancé of my good friend, Dwayne Libbydale.”

Kirk takes a step forward, but Jon waves him down as best he can with his hands cuffed together. “Don’t,” he says, climbing slowly to his feet. “It’s not worth it.”

Kirk gives him a long look before he nods and steps back.

Jon limps forwards to meet RoboTim. The robot locks a hand around the chain connecting his wrists and tugs, pulling Jon through the door behind it and out into the corridor.

Once it shuts the door behind them, it switches its grip to the back of his neck, its unsettlingly warm fingers wrapping nearly all the way around to the front. Its grip isn’t tight enough to prevent Jon from breathing, but Jon is keenly aware that could change at any moment. Fighting off a rising tide of panic, Jon tries to keep his feet under him as the robot roughly shoves him forward.

They don’t go far, thankfully, only two doors down. It’s just about as far as Jon can bear, and he doesn’t protest when he’s less then gently shoved onto a metal folding chair. He can’t help but be thankful when the robot makes no move to tie him down, but it does keep its hand on the back of his neck, shifting to stand so close behind him that the heat radiating from its chest warms Jon’s back unpleasantly through his vest.

The door swings open, and Jon looks up to see Judd Gunderson looming in the doorway. The first thing Jon notices is the angry red burn marring his face, starting under his shirt collar and sweeping up over his cheek to extend just past the bridge of his nose. Jon doesn’t need the Beholding to recognize it as a radiation burn. The upper edge is hidden by the shadow of the man’s absurd hat, and bloodshot eyes glare out of the darkness above it.

Jon stares cautiously back up at him, curling his hands in his lap to hide the shaking.

Finally, Gunderson shakes his head and breaks the silence with his slow drawl. “My goodness, where _are_ my manners. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Archivist, although I must say I expected someone with a bit more… _spine_. Well, I suppose it’s probably for the best. Wouldn’t want you to get uppity, now would we.” He laughs quietly, enjoying some private joke.

Jon clears his throat nervously. “What do you-“

Before Jon can finish the question an electric current leaps from the robot’s hand at the back of his neck, and his body seizes. The shock ends just as abruptly as it began, leaving Jon breathless and shuddering. It’s a small mercy he hasn’t pissed himself. His heart is racing, its beat worryingly irregular. He flinches when something cold touches the underside of his chin, but Gunderson forces his head up regardless of his protests.

“Do not try and compel me, boy. I would like to have a civil conversation, but if you’re not capable of holding your tongue, then I’m afraid we will have to resort to _other methods_ to silence you. Are we clear?”

“Yes,” Jon grumbles with as much animosity as he can gather.

Smirking, Gunderson removes his gloved hand from under Jon’s chin and pats him lightly on the check.

“Good boy.”

Jon bristles at the patronizing gesture, but shoves down an acerbic response as the thing holding his neck squeezes, just slightly. His heart lurches, and Jon’s vision goes black for a moment as he tries to get it back under control. By the time his vision clears, Gunderson has taken a step back and resumed glaring smugly down at Jon.

“I’m sure you’d like to know why you’re here, Archivist, but I’m not particularly inclined to reveal that yet. I’d hate to feed the Watcher before the right moment. Suffice it to say that it was as a favor for a friend, and that it has provided a bountiful harvest indeed.”

Jon huffs out a frustrated breath in lieu of speech, and Gunderson laughs.

“You learned that one right quick, boy. As a reward, I’ll let you in on a little secret.” Gunderson reaches over and casually presses a button on what must be an intercom panel. “Go ahead, fellas,” he says with an amused sneer at Jon.

There’s a pause, and then the intercom clicks back on. The noise of something metallic striking flesh, and then a ragged cry from Sammy, abruptly cut off. Another impact and Sammy screams again, this time calling out for Ben.

Before he realizes what he’s doing, Jon’s growling a question out at Gunderson with as much compulsion behind it as he can muster. He doesn’t get so much as a sound out before the current surges through him again. He loses the next few seconds to blinding pain, and when Tim lets go, he crashes to the floor, still twitching. It’s all he can do to keep air moving through his lungs, fighting the spasming of his diaphragm and the ache in his chest.

Someone – likely the robot, although he can’t tell for sure – slings him over their shoulder and carries him back to the cell before unceremoniously dumping him back onto the floor.

Kirk waits for the door to shut before rushing over. The mark of the desolation on him is stronger now, or maybe Jon is just weaker. He continues to lay there as his muscles twitch. His heart is mostly steady now, he thinks, but there’s a wet drag in his lungs when he inhales that worries him. The hunger is still there, gnawing at his insides. He knows how to make it go away. It would be so _easy_, all he has to do is ask.

Kirk reaches out a hesitant hand, placing it gently on Jon’s shoulder. Jon flinches violently backwards, forcing himself into as a tight a ball as he can manage, his hands curled protectively over his head.

“Hey man, are you alright? Did that piece of shit Gunderson do this to you?” Kirk asks, snatching his hand back as if burned.

Jon shakes his head vigorously. He can’t even open his mouth to vocalize a response. There’d be no turning back then, no way to forgive what he’d do.

He stays quiet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm definitely sorry for this one. Gunderson is horrible, and the only reason he ends up in my fics is because I find him to genuinely be the most terrifying villain in KFAM.
> 
> Next week: a conversation that involves time zone conversions!
> 
> CW: Jon is going through statement withdrawal. A character tortures another another onscreen via electrocution. Other characters can be heard also being tortured, although they are off-screen. Jon spends the entire chapter in a state of panic, including mild flashbacks to being kidnapped by Nikola.


	15. Our Boy Jack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The hand that Sammy’s holding twitches, and Sammy jerks upright with a start.  
“Jack?” he whispers, not quite daring to hope that Jack is finally awake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I spent several months trying to figure out a clever way to fit "our boy jack" into the dialogue but I just couldn't make it work, so here it is as a chapter title. 
> 
> CW this chapter: aftermath of natural disaster (volcano), ableism. See end notes for details.
> 
> NB: I'm hoping to finish up the last installment of my ongoing KFAM series, Time and the World do not Stand Still, (an AU where everything is the same but Sammy has tremors) so keep your eyes peeled for that sometime in the coming week if you're interested.

Sammy sits by Jack’s bedside, quietly nursing his cup of lukewarm coffee. Everyone else is taking the time to sleep after the chaos of the last few days, and the cabin is eerily quiet. Basira and Daisy are the only others awake, working silently in the kitchen area.

Jack is sleeping peacefully now, the rise of his chest slow and steady, just barely visible in the lantern light. Frowning, Sammy sets down his mug and shifts the lantern closer. It’s well past sunrise, but the ash cloud from the eruption is so thick that it might as well be night. He, Lily, and Jack are lucky that Tim had got to them when he did. The real Tim Jensen had apparently arrived at the Devil’s Doorstep just after Gunderson left, and he’d been able to get them to relative safety and shield them from the worst of the blast. After the initial eruption he’d brought them back to Herschel’s cabin, deeming it too unsafe to bring them to the hospital with so many of Gunderson’s people helping to “maintain security in a state of emergency.”

Hours later, Sammy had awoken next to Jack with an irate Herschel Baumgardner standing over them. “Don’t you do that again, you hear me?” Herschel had said. “Your Ben can’t take that kind of hurt again.” He’d then poked Sammy emphatically in the chest with a single finger before stomping off to find somewhere to rest.

A trip to the kitchen and a hushed debriefing with Basira later, Sammy was back to maintaining his vigil at Jack’s side. Sighing softly, Sammy brushes Jack’s hair back from his face. Someone had cleaned away the grime and removed the blindfold while they were unconscious. Jack’s eyelids are shut, but it’s obvious that there’s nothing behind them.

Sammy’s breath hitches, and he rubs ineffectively at his watering eyes. _Jack in the Box Jesus_, Jack must have been through hell. To be alone in that horrible cave, trapped and hurt. Did he even think Sammy was coming for him? Sammy doesn’t know if he’d believe it. They’d been arguing vehemently for weeks by the time Jack was taken, and Jack would have had little reason to think Sammy could have muddled his way through the supernatural long enough to find him, let alone figure out how to rescue him.

Jack had been unusually melancholy when they’d gone to be that last night, his smile not quite reaching his eyes as they kissed goodnight.

Now Sammy would never see those eyes again, never see the way they sparkled when he was happy or the fire that burned within them when Jack went off on one of his passionate lectures.

Sniffling raggedly, Sammy takes Jack’s nearest hand and buries his face in the blanket next to it. He shouldn’t think like that. It’s not right, it’s not fair to Jack. Jack’s not gone.

The hand that Sammy’s holding twitches, and Sammy jerks upright with a start.

“Jack?” he whispers, not quite daring to hope that Jack is finally awake.

Jack stills. “Sammy?” he asks, voice rough from disuse and barely audible. “Sammy, is that you?”

“Oh Jack,” Sammy gasps, unconsciously tightening his grip on Jack’s hand. “It’s me, it’s Sammy. You’re safe now. We got you out of there.”

“Come closer,” Jack orders, tugging on Sammy’s hand. “Let me feel you.”

Sammy surges forward and envelops Jack in a tight hug, scrambling up on the bed to do so. Jack hugs him back just as fiercely before drawing back slightly, one hand braced behind Sammy’s head.

“You grew your hair out,” he says slowly, and a frown crosses his face when his other hand brushes the back Sammy’s left, stopping when he feels their engagement ring. “What is this? Sammy, what…” His voice trails off weekly.

“I’m done hiding, Jack,” Sammy says fervently. “I love you, and I don’t care who knows.”

Jack makes a small noise of surprise, and a tear slides down his cheek.

“I thought I’d lost you. But we got you back, and I’m not letting you go again.”

“Oh, Sammy,” Jack says breathlessly, wrapping Sammy in another hug.

There’s a quiet noise of surprise from the doorway, and Jack flinches back.

“Jack?” Lily asks, eyes wide.

Jack sits bolt upright. “Lily!” he exclaims, before nearly collapsing in a fit of coughing. Lily rushes forwards and helps Sammy settle Jack back against the pillows. He looks ashen even in the dim lantern light, but the coughing subsides.

Sammy lays a gentle hand on Lily and Jack’s shoulders. “I’m going to go grab you some water,” he says. “I’ll be right back.”

They nod, and Sammy forces himself to leave them to their reunion. It’s one of the hardest things he’s ever done, but he’s not about to ask Lily to walk away from Jack the moment she’s seen him awake.

He doesn’t get very far before it becomes apparent that Daisy and Basira are arguing in the kitchen. Reluctant to interrupt, he pauses, hanging back when he hears Jon’s name. The conversation escalates, and he presses himself back against the wall to listen in.

“-have to tell him,” Daisy insists, her voice low and hard. “He deserves to know.”

“Martin made his choice, and it wasn’t to stand with us. We can’t trust him,” Basira says with a scoff.

“He and Jon-“

Basira cuts Daisy off. “He and Jon what? You’ve seen him. Do you really think he still feels that way about Jon? For all we know he and Lukas orchestrated this. I’ll bet that Jon’s feeling the pull of the lonely pretty strongly right now, if he’s even still alive.”

“How could you think that?” Daisy hisses. “Don’t you remember how Jon was when he came back from Martin’s office that one time?”

“Where, if you’ll remember, Martin refused him, rather coldly.”

Daisy sighs. “Fine. If you won’t do it for them, then do it for the rest of us. This is obviously a move by the Extinction, and we need to know more about what’s going on. No one currently alive knows more about the Extinction than Martin. We need to bring him in on this.”

“The answer is still no, Daisy. We can’t trust him.”

Daisy makes an exasperated noise but doesn’t argue further. A rustle of movement comes from the kitchen, followed by the sound of approaching footsteps.

Sammy hurriedly steps away from the wall, angling his approach that it looks more like he’s on his way from the bedrooms and less like he’s been lurking just around the corner.

Daisy rounds the corner somewhat more forcefully than he’d expected, and he staggers back as she plows directly into his shoulder.

“Sorry,” she mumbles, patting his pocket before brushing by him.

Still slightly stunned, Sammy fumbles into the kitchen. Basira looks wearily up at him before returning her attention to the notes spread out on the table in front of her. “He awake?” she asks brusquely, eyes fixed on her work.

“Yeah,” Sammy manages to say. “I’m just grabbing him some water.”

Basira sighs. “Take some from the jug on the counter, but be careful. This place is on a well, so we can’t run the taps until the blackout ends. There’s a lot of ash out there, and I don’t know when they’ll lift the state of emergency so we can go into town and get more of the bottled kind.”

Sammy just nods in acknowledgement and fills a mug from the indicated jug.

When he turns around, Basira is gone. Sammy carefully looks around the room to check that she’s actually left before pulling out the phone that Daisy had slipped into his pocket. It’s a black smartphone in a slim but utilitarian case, and when he clicks the button the screen lights up, displaying a single notification.

_You need to call Martin_, reads the text, which the phone informs him was sent from Daisy one minute ago.

Sammy furtively glances around again before swiping the phone open. To his surprise, it doesn’t even ask for a passcode before unlocking, one picture of an orange tabby fading into another. Sammy debates the ethics of poking around on what is clearly Jon’s phone before deciding against it and heading straight for Jon’s contacts. There’s fewer of them than he’d expected, and Martin’s name is listed right near the top.

Sammy casts one last glance around the room, takes a deep breath, and presses the call button.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote so many drafts of this, but I think it's finally ready. Writing Sammy and Jack reuniting is always tough for me.
> 
> Thanks for reading! 
> 
> Tune in next week for a new POV! (yes it's Martin)
> 
> CW: the aftermath of the volcano isn't explicitly described, but there are mentions of it's affects, particularly fallout from the ash cloud. Additionally, Sammy is struggling to internally process the fact that Jack is blind, and has some thoughts that could definitely be classified as ableism, though he immediately recognizes this and doesn't voice them out loud.


	16. GMT

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s dangerous, letting the Lonely get a hold on him like this, but if Peter doesn’t believe him, then everything will have been for naught. This needs to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think you folks are gonna like this one
> 
> CW this chapter for canon-typical Martin and the Lonely

It’s quiet in the Institute, now. Not that it hasn’t been since Peter took over, but at least the Archival staff would take it upon themselves to wander up to his office every so often. That doesn’t happen anymore.

Martin can’t remember the last time he talked to someone who wasn’t Peter. He’ll chat with the tape recorders when they appear, but it’s not the same. Then again, it’s not supposed to be. He needs to let go of his attachments. It’s dangerous, letting the Lonely get a hold on him like this, but if Peter doesn’t believe him, then everything will have been for naught. This _needs_ to work.

Sighing, Martin sets down his long-cold mug of ramen and tries to rub the exhaustion from his eyes. He ought to have left ages ago, but Peter had finally submitted his expenditures for the month, and they are, to put it mildly, a colossal mess. He squints hopefully at the computer screen, but the numbers don’t reconcile any better.

A tape recorder clicks on, and Martin huffs a laugh at it.

“Dunno why you’re here,” he says, his voice betraying a hint of fondness he’ll never admit to. “They’re all gone, and I’m not worth watching.” He turns back to the screen and waits. The tapes usually know when Peter’s coming before Martin does, but it rarely takes this long – unless Peter’s lurking.

“Peter…” Martin calls, trying to keep his exasperation from bleeding into his voice. A moment of silence passes, then two. So Peter’s doing _this_ again? Fine.

Suddenly his phone rings, its harsh trill shattering the quiet of Martin’s office.

_“Fuck,”_ Martin swears, scrambling to his feet. Where is his phone? When did he even last use it? Who on earth is trying to call him at this hour? He moves to the outlet in the corner, but the sound gets quieter, so it can’t be over there. Sighing, he follows the noise back to his desk and starts shuffling papers around until the spots the tell-tale glow.

He pulls it out triumphantly, looks at the screen, and promptly drops it on the desk, where the screen stares forlornly back at him.

_Incoming Call_

_Jonathan Sims_

Heart jackrabbiting in his chest, Martin flips the phone face down and surreptitiously slides it back under the papers. He can’t answer a call from Jon. Not now, not here, and especially not when Peter might be watching.

He turns back to the computer and starts typing, just to give his hands something to do other than reaching for the phone.

The ringing stops, and Martin breathes a sigh of relief. This is fine. If Jon happens to leave a message, then Martin can listen when _(if)_ he gets back to his flat, where there are no tape recorders and Peter is less likely to be lurking.

The phone rings again, and Martin’s stomach drops. What is he supposed to do now? He can’t answer the phone. He can’t. And Jon can’t call forever. He knows that Martin can’t talk to him.

But if Jon knows that, then he wouldn’t call unless it were an emergency. No. Martin can’t go down that path. Jon has Basira and Daisy with him, he’ll be safe. Unless Basira finally decided to – nope. Not thinking about that either.

The ringing stops and doesn’t immediately start again. Martin realizes that he’s stopped typing a while ago, and he hurriedly resumes. In the wake of the phone, the click of his fingers erratically moving over his keyboard sounds loud in the silence. He’s misspelled three words in a row just now, and he stabs furiously at the delete key to erase the evidence.

The phone rings again.

Throwing caution to the wind, Martin snatches the phone from under the stack of papers and stares at the screen.

_1 New Message from Jonathan Sims_

_Jon’s gone. The Extinction took him. We need you. _

Martin answers the call. It’s stupid and reckless, but he needs to know. If Peter comments on it, then he’ll say it was about the Extinction. It’s not a perfect solution, not even a good one, but it will have to do.

He takes a deep breath, grabbing all his anxiety and fear and hope and shoving it far down into a box. “Who is this?” he snaps, as coldly as he can manage, hopefully without driving the caller to hang up.

“It’s Sammy Stevens? We spoke a week or so ago about Jack Wright.”

Well, of all the people who could have randomly acquired Jon’s phone, this one at least makes a little sense. “I remember,” Martin replies. “What do you want?”

There’s a brief pause on the other end of the line before Sammy continues. “It’s Jon. The Extinction has fully emerged, and they… they took him. We think they’re attempting a ritual.”

That’s – that’s not good. That is the _one _thing that cannot be happening. Oh, fuck. _Jon_. Why does he always do this? Is he truly incapably of staying out of trouble for more than a week? And now he’s in trouble on the other side of the world, and Martin is stuck here. Useless.

“I don’t know what you want me to do about that,” Martin says, and a small part of his strength dies as the words leave his lips. “I have important business to attend to that requires my presence here at the Institute.”

“We need your help! _Jon_ needs your help!” Sammy hisses.

“I’m afraid that will be impossible. Good luck, Mr. Stevens.”

In the stunned silence that follows, Martin does his best to think about _anything_ other than how his emotions are trying to rip him apart. Sammy starts to protest, and suddenly it’s too much. Martin fades out, stepping into the Lonely, and the call drops. The fog wraps around him like a reassuring blanket, and Martin releases his feelings, letting them dissipate into the empty air. It’s easier now than it used to be, enough that he’d have worried if he still had the capacity.

Martin takes a moment to center himself. If he goes back as stressed as he’d been when he left, then Peter will know right away. One more deep breath, and Martin steps back into the Institute. He jumps at the sight of Peter standing on the other side of his desk but is not wholly surprised by this turn of events. They stare awkwardly at one another before Martin remembers himself and inclines his head.

“Peter,” he says in greeting, voice carefully neutral, with just enough frustration bleeding through to seem natural but not arouse Peter’s suspicions.

Peter smiles a dangerously banal smile. “Hello, Martin. How are you?”

So it’s to be like this, then. Fine. Martin can play this game of misdirection and obfuscation just as well.

“I’m fine. But if you could tell me why the Institute has a bill for over fifty thousand dollars’ worth of port fees for the _Tundra_ from the Port of Portland, I would greatly appreciate it.”

Peter just shrugs in the face of Martin’s acerbic glare. “She’s there on institute business. It didn’t seem fair that I should pay what is clearly a business expense out of pocket.” He pauses, considering. “Though I suppose it is my money, either way.”

Martin sighs. “And what business does the Institute have in Oregon?’

“That’s none of your concern, Martin.” Peter raises a single bushy eyebrow. “That is, unless you’ve developed an interest?”

Unable to throw his hands up in the air in exasperation, Martin instead looks Peter right in the eye.

“I need to know in order to submit the proper paperwork. If you’re not going to fill it out yourself, then you at least need to give me the information so that I can complete it on your behalf.”

Laughing, Peter steps forward, and Martin finds himself taking a step back despite the desk between them.

“Oh, Martin. You know what the _Tundra_ is doing in Oregon. You just don’t want to admit it.”

It’s Jon. Jon must be in Oregon. Martin fights back his growing anger and places both hands on the edge of the desk. Peter notices, but he doesn’t look twice. Good.

“The Extinction? I wouldn’t have thought that some unsubstantiated rumors from America would have warranted the presence of the _Tundra_.” Martin holds his breath, and Peter buys it, not looking deeper than Martin’s bored, slightly put-upon tone. Peter shrugs and tucks his hands into the pockets of his coat. Perfect.

Martin flips the desk. It takes Peter completely unawares, and in the split second before Peter can react, Martin flees. There’ll be time to worry about the papers and his computer later, for now all he can do is run. He’s out the door before Peter has a chance to recover, taking off at a run down the corridor as fast as he can manage. He doesn’t really have a destination in mind, but anywhere is better than with Peter. He’s burned that bridge well and good, and he’ll be lucky if he can get out of the Institute unscathed.

Doors slam in the hallways as he passes, the other staff taking his flight as the sign of another attack on the Institute. He pays them no mind, instead putting all his efforts into increasing the distance between him and Peter. Peter may or may not need a line of sight to vanish him into the Lonely, but Martin’s not about to stick around and find out.

His feet take him to Jon’s empty office of their own accord. Throwing himself through the door, Martin slams it shut behind him and takes shelter behind the desk. His breath is loud in his ears, but it’s not enough to drown out the sound of Peter’s measured footsteps in the hall. Shaking with adrenaline, Martin braces his hands on the floor. One knocks something aside, and Martin grabs at it without thinking. It’s… a rib? Just a single rib, laying on the floor of Jon’s office. Okay.

“You can’t run from me, Martin. There’s no one to help you,” Peter calls from the other side of the door as chilled fog reaches through the gap underneath.

Something touches his shoulder, and Martin whirls around, automatically clutching the rib to his chest. Helen stands above him, one hand outstretched.

Before he can reconsider, Martin grabs her hand, allowing her to pull him to his feet and through her door just as Peter appears in the room behind him. The last real thing he hears is a laugh that sounds suspiciously like Elias before Helen’s door clicks shut behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been waiting to write this chapter for so long! I hope you all enjoyed reading it as much as I did writing it :)


	17. Concequences

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Do you know what his ‘urgent business at the Institute’ is? He’s working for Peter Lukas, and you’ve just handed us to him on a silver platter.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was not easy to write, but I think I'm pretty happy with where it ended up.
> 
> In which several discussions are had.
> 
> CW for mild violence and swearing

The phone call dissolves in a hiss of static, and it’s all Sammy can do not to drop the phone in disbelief. Could that really be the man that Jon loved? He’d sounded _horrible_.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” Basira says from behind him, and Sammy jumps.

He shoves the phone deep into his pocket, trying to hide it on reflex, then catches himself with a tired sigh. “I’m beginning to think so,” he replies. “Still, it was worth a try.”

That was clearly the wrong thing to say, as Basira shoves off the wall she had been leaning against and crosses her arms, tension seeping into every rigid line of her body.

“No, it wasn’t. You’re not fighting some small-town zealot anymore. In our world, mistakes get people killed.”

That was unfair. Sammy feels his own body language turn defensive as he attempts to muster a rebuttal. “But Martin-“

“Martin what, Sammy? Do you know what his ‘urgent business at the Institute’ is? He’s working for _Peter Lukas_, who, if you’ve forgotten, nearly killed your friend as a _threat_. And you’ve just handed us to him on a silver platter.”

Basira uncrosses her arms and takes a step forward, and Sammy matches it with a step back. Just as he’s deciding that she’s about to lash out, Daisy emerges from the hall and places a placating hand on Basira’s arm.

“Basira, wait. That’s not fair.”

Basira angrily throws of Daisy’s hand with a huff. “What, were you eavesdropping?”

“You weren’t that quiet,” Daisy deflects.

Basira’s attention snaps right back to Sammy, her brow furrowed. “And how did you get Martin’s – wait. Was that Jon’s phone? Give me that.”

Sammy scrambles back as Basira stalks towards him, but she doesn’t make it more than two steps form the doorway before she stumbles and collapses. Both Sammy and Daisy rush forward, and Basira doesn’t even bother to protest when they gently ease her to the floor, Daisy maneuvering them so Basira’s safely supported under her arm.

“What’s wrong?” Daisy asks urgently, her other hand checking Basira’s pulse and forehead in turn.

Basira grimaces. “It’s started.”

Unsure of how to help, Sammy hovers awkwardly. He starts to shift back towards the bedroom, but a growl from Daisy stops him in his tracks even though he quickly realizes it wasn’t directed at him. “What’s started?” she asks Basira, voice low and dangerous.

“Do you remember Tim Stoker?” Basira asks. Daisy nods slowly, her concern deepening. “He discovered that once you’ve signed a contract with the institute, you can’t leave. You start to lose yourself if you stay away too long. Tim ran away to Malaysia, came back a week later with his tail tucked between his legs. I wasn’t sure how long it’d take to happen here, but I guess we just found out.”

Suddenly the front door slams open, and Dwayne Libbydale storms in. He looks a complete wreck, his clothes torn and filthy, his hair matted with sweat and ash. His eyes land on Sammy, and he beelines for him, ripping off his respirator and throwing it carelessly to the side as he crosses the room.

Sammy tries to back away, but the wall is already right behind him, and Dwayne crowds him against it, close enough that the smell of the ash sinks into Sammy’s lungs.

“Where is he?” Dwayne growls. “What did you do to him?”

This doesn’t make any sense. “Who are you-“ Sammy tries to ask for clarification, but Dwayne cuts him off, fisting his hands in Sammy’s shirt and shoving him back against the wall.

“Don’t play dumb with me, _Shotgun_. Where is Kirk?”

Oh, fuck. Sammy’s heart plummets. “Dwayne, I don’t know what’s going on. What happened to Kirk?” he says as calmly as he can manage despite his racing heart. Over Dwayne’s shoulder, he can see Daisy slowly rise to her feet, preparing to intervene.

Kirk laughs hollowly. “Why don’t you tell me? I know you and your spooky friends had something to do with it.”

Any reply Sammy might have had is stopped by a new voice.

“What’s going on here?” Jack says from the doorway. He’s got one hand tucked in the crook of Lily’s elbow, but he’s standing under his own power, and his face is _livid_.

Dwayne looks at Jack, eyes wide with surprise and grief, and shoves Sammy away.

“So that’s what you did, huh? Trade my fiancé for yours? Fuck you, Stevens. Fuck. You.” He punctuates this with a sharp jab at Sammy’s chest, sending him stumbling back into the wall again.

“Enough!” Jack snaps, and everyone goes still. “The Shadowmaker is not the only power that hunted in this town.”

Basira chooses this moment to clamber unsteadily to her feet. “The Extinction,” she says weakly. “Gunderson has him.” Daisy holds out an arm to steady her, and she takes it without needing to look.

“How do you know that?” Dwyane demands, rounding on her angrily. Basira doesn’t shy away, staring him in the eyes as he nears.

“Because he also took Jon.”

This revelation does give Dwayne pause, and he backs down ever so slightly. Sammy, however, goes still, caught on the precipice of a horrible realization.

This is his fault. He traded Kirk for Jack. He may not have known that’s what he was doing when he begged Gunderson not to take Jack, but he did it anyway. Oh, _Jack in the Box Jesus_, what has he done.

Dwayne snaps at Basira, yanking Sammy out of his spiral. “We need to get him back.”

“We will,” interjects Daisy. “But we need to be careful about it. There are larger forces at play here, and a lot of people stand to suffer if we fail.”

“No,” Dwayne says, his anger giving way to panic. “No, we can’t leave him there. Do you have any idea what Gunderson will do to him?”

Sammy steps forward, enough to catch Dwayne’s attention but still well out of his personal space. It may be his fault that this has happened, but at least he can damn well make sure that it gets solved. “That’s why we need to wait, Dwayne. If you want to run in there without a plan and with no backup, then we won’t stop you. But Gunderson knows you, knows how to hurt you. This is exactly what he wants you to do.”

Some of the fire seems to drain from Dwayne’s eyes, and his shoulders slump. “I can’t just leave him there,” he pleads, making hesitant eye contact with Sammy.

“I know,” Sammy says. “Believe me, I know. But we have to do this right.”

This, at least, seems to get through. “Okay. I’ll… I’ll wait.” He offers Sammy a small smile. “And for what it’s worth, I’m glad that Jack is back.”

Jack clears his throat, and Dwayne glances up when Jack addresses him. “Thank you. And I’m sorry about Kirk. But if anyone can get him back, it’s Ben Arnold, and I wouldn’t fancy standing against the rest of us either. He’s rescued people from the SI before, and he’ll do it again.”

Dwayne nods his thanks. “I should go clean up,” he says, motioning awkwardly towards the door. “But it’s too late for me to try and make it back to the farm, not with Gunderson’s men out enforcing the curfew. Could I crash here for the night?”

Daisy shrugs. “We’ve not much more to offer than some blankets and the floor, but you’re welcome to stay if you want.”

After Dwayne disappears in the direction of the creek out back, Jack turns towards Basira. “You’re ill,” he says, and Sammy and Basira both startle. Daisy just narrows her eyes.

“I’ve been away from the Institute for too long. But there’s nothing the two of you can do about it, and I’m sure you would much rather spend the time with one another. Go.”

Sammy nods and moves to rejoin Jack and Lily in the bedroom, only just remembering to grab the cup of water on his way out of the kitchen. They settle Jack back into the bed with little fuss, and Jack smiles softly as he grips the glass of water in one hand and Sammy’s hand in the other.

“We were worried when you didn’t come back right away,” Jack begins, and Sammy, still unsettled by his earlier realization, is overcome by guilt.

“I’m so sorry, Jack,” he says all in a rush, dropping from his chair to his knees by the bed. “Basira and Daisy were arguing and then there was an emergency and I needed to call London and then Basira fell and I-“ a deliberate squeeze of his hand brings Sammy’s rambling to a sudden stop.

“Hush, Sammy. I’m not mad, I promise.”

Jack’s statement is followed by a barely audible grumble from Lily, but Sammy can tell that her heart’s not in it.

“You may not be mad, but I’m still sorry. I’ve only just gotten you back, and I’m already pushing you aside,” Sammy insists.

Passing the cup to Lily, Jack turns to face Sammy and gather’s Sammy’s hand in both of his own. “Please don’t do this to yourself, sweetheart. Yes, I would have liked it if you returned to me right away, but you’re fighting to stop the literal end of the world. You are the singular most important thing to me on this earth, but that depends on the continued existence of said earth. Stopping the apocalypse is the one thing I would share you with.”

Sammy nods, not willing to let go of Jack’s hands to wipe away the rear rolling down his cheek.

“I love you,” he whispers.

Jack smiles and whispers back, “I love you too.”

They sit like this in comfortable silence, content to listen to one another breathe. It’s Lily who eventually breaks the silence, shifting restlessly in her chair.

“How are you feeling, now that you’ve been properly awake for a while?”

Jack shrugs halfheartedly. “Tired. Hungry. Other than that, I’m alright for now. I’m not exactly looking forward to trying to sleep tonight, but until then…” Jack trails off. “We’ll see.”

“And your eyes?” Lily asks with a level of care that Sammy knows is reserved for Jack alone. He’s glad she’s the one who asked. He’s not quite sure that he’s ready to broach the subject himself.

“What?” Jack asks, somewhat surprised. “Oh. It’s not exactly new. I haven’t been able to see for a while.” He says it with such a steady voice that Sammy can’t help but ask what happened.

Jack only grimaces. “I’d rather not, right now.”

Sammy squeezes Jack’s hand reassuringly. “Whatever you need.”

Across the room, Ben stirs in his sleep, reminding Sammy of a thought that had been niggling at him.

“How did you know about Ben getting Emily back?” he asks absently.

Jack stiffens and removes one of his hands from Sammy’s grip. “I… wasn’t alone, in the Doorstep. The Shadowmaker liked to talk, could make us hear the voices in our heads. We heard most everything that’s happened here since you arrived.”

Something about that answer doesn’t sit right with Sammy, but he lets it slide.

“We didn’t see anyone else when we found you,” he says instead.

Jack shakes his head. “I’m not surprised. I don’t think any of them were real anymore by the end. I was the only one left.” He sighs and slumps further into the pillows. Sammy isn’t sure what to say, but Jack tactfully changes the subject.

“How long has Ben been asleep?” he asks, his frown deepening.

Sammy and Lily share a worried look, and Lily answers the question. “It’s been almost twenty-four hours. There’s shouldn’t be a reason for him to still be asleep.”

Jack gently pushes Sammy’s hand in the direction of Ben, and Sammy gives it one last squeeze before reluctantly letting go and shuffling over to Ben.

Ben looks peaceful, and the rise and fall of his chest is slow and steady. But when Sammy lays his hand on Ben’s shoulder, his skin is uncomfortably cold and damp, even through his shirt.

“Shit,” Sammy swears, giving Bens’ shoulder a shake. “Ben, can you hear me? You need to wake up.”

Ben lurches upright with an aborted shout, warmth rapidly rushing back into his skin under Sammy’s hand.

“Sammy,” Ben gasps, both hands coming up to grip Sammy’s shoulders. “Something’s gone terribly wrong. I can’t find Jon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Updates might be a little sporadic over the next few weeks due to work, but I'll do the best that I can! The chapter count is also probably going to grow a little bit more as I figure out how exactly I want to wrap all of these ends up. 
> 
> Tune in next week to find out just how many ways the party has been split!


	18. Full Operational Discretion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He’s asking for you, Sammy. Knows your name and everything, and he clearly ain’t from around here neither. I know it ain’t safe, but you gotta come get him. We can’t keep him here, not with the kids.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! It's me again, bringing you your weekly dose of angst. I don't know if I'll be able to update next weekend, so this chapter is a little longer than usual to tide you over!
> 
> How about that chapter title, huh?
> 
> CW: violence, blood, threats of violence, perceived danger to children (see end notes for details)

Ben’s skin is warming rapidly now that he’s awake, but he still shivers under Sammy’s hands.

“Ben, it’s okay, you need to calm down,” Sammy pleads, but Ben’s not paying him any attention, mumbling frantically as he stares off into the middle distance.

“Ben, listen to me!” The words come out a little too short and a little too sharp, but it doesn’t seem to matter. Startled, Ben lurches out of whatever he was stuck in and throws himself into Sammy’s lap, engulfing him with an overwhelming hug.

“Don’t ever do that again, Sammy!” His voice is muffled by the collar of Sammy’s shirt, but the emotion behind the words is evident nonetheless. “You’re the only one I have left.”

Sammy returns the embrace in kind, letting himself cling to Ben in a way that hasn’t been necessary for a long time. “I won’t, I promise,” he says quietly, and he means it. After they find Jon and Kirk, he’s done. He and Jack are going to finds somewhere quiet and settle down. They deserve it.

“Ben,” Sammy says, drawing back as far as Ben’s embrace will allow, “there’s someone I want you to meet.”

Ben looks up, eyes wide, and, Sammy is startled to realize, somewhat afraid. Sammy gives him an encouraging smile and wraps an arm around Ben’s back to guide him towards the other bed.

“Benjamin Arnold,” Sammy says, losing his battle against a broad smile, “may I have the pleasure of introducing you to my fiancé, Jack Wright?”

“You’re awake!” Ben blurts, hurrying over to Jack. “I’m so excited to finally meet you.”

Sammy waits with bated breath to see how Jack responds to Ben’s overenthusiasm, but Jack just smiles.

“It’s nice to meet you, Ben. Thanks for taking care of my guy while I couldn’t.”

Ben blushes furiously and ducks his head. Sammy can’t help but ruffle his hair, and Lily snorts a laugh.

Basira clears her throat from the doorway, and the relaxed atmosphere in the room abruptly dies.

“Hello, Detective,” Jack says coldly.

Basira freezes for half a second, then turns to Sammy with a blink as though nothing had happened. “There’s a call on the radio for you, Stevens.” Her words are impressively calm and even, completely at odds with the tension in her posture. Sammy shoots her a confused look, but she just motions impatiently for him to follow her.

“I should go,” Sammy says, giving Jack’s hand a small squeeze. Jack nods, and Sammy ruffles Ben’s hair again on his way out, ignoring the resulting squawk.

“Who is it?” Sammy asks once they’re out of earshot.

“Mary Jensen. Said she wouldn’t say anything else until you were on the line.”

That is a cause for worry. There’s very little that could spook Mary like this, and none of it is good.

Daisy is waiting for them in the living room by the radio, writing quietly in a notebook. She looks up when they walk in, and hands Sammy the handset. He takes a steadying breath and pushes the button to talk.

“Mary, this is Sammy. What’s wrong? Is Tim alright?”

“Oh, Tim is doing just fine, Sammy, thank you for asking. I’m calling because we seem to have picked up an extra. Appeared in the yard outta nowhere not ten minutes ago. He gave Bella and Little Tim quite the scare, but my Tim’s keeping a close eye on him in the shed.”

This is definitely not good. The last thing they need right now is another robot clone from the Science Institute. “An extra? Like the one that showed up at Archie’s?” Daisy and Basira look at him curiously, but Sammy shakes his head and signals for them to wait.

“No, thank goodness. It’s not another Tim. But there is something off about him, even if he seems human enough. Or at least he bleeds like one, anyway. But Sammy – he’s asking for you. Knows your name and everything, and he clearly ain’t from around here neither. I know it ain’t safe, but you gotta come get him. We can’t keep him here, not with the kids.”

“Who is he, Mary?”

“Big, tall fella. Said his name was Martin.”

Sammy states at Basira in shock, and her expression is much the same. “Hang on just a moment, Mary,” he says, not breaking eye contact with Basira. She looks rattled, still pale even in the half-light.

“Is it a trap?” he asks. It feels like a trap.

Basira only shrugs. “Could go either way. Martin may be soft, but we can’t forget that he’s can also be clever. There’s only two ways he could have gotten here so fast, and the most likely one by far is that Peter sent him. Either way, it’s not safe to leave him unattended.” Daisy nods her agreement, and Sammy picks the handset back up.

“We’ll be right over, Mary. You said he was bleeding?”

There’s a short pause before Mary answers. “Like I said, he gave the little ones quite a fright, and Tim responded rather strongly. You can’t be too careful theses days. How worried should I be?”

“Just don’t leave him alone,” Basira interjects, and Sammy passes the message along.

Everything moves rather quickly from there, and once the conversation has been resolved, Daisy hustles Sammy out the door, pausing only to grab her gun and check with Basira about operational discretion. Sammy almost asks if she thinks the gun will really be necessary, but one look at the cold expression on her face and he decides he’d rather not know. She hands him a particle mask and directs him to the passenger seat of the SUV, rolling down the windows and turning off the headlights before starting in the direction of the main road. At Sammy’s befuddled expression she laughs softly and lets her eyes glow briefly gold.

“I can see and hear more than well enough to avoid Gunderson’s men, especially in the dark.”

Sammy supposes that makes sense, especially if he considers that she’s essentially a spooky werewolf. In a conscious effort not to stare, he turns and looks out the window instead. If he doesn’t look to closely at the ash, it almost looks like powdery snow.

The drive passes quickly despite his nerves, and they’re soon pulling into the Jensen’s driveway. Mary meets them at the door, a blanket pulled tight around her shoulders. She shakes Daisy’s hand warmly and gives Sammy a hug before leading them out back. 

As they approach the shed, Mary lays a hand on Sammy’s arm and gently draws him to a stop.

“Now I know you folks are gonna do what you have to Sammy, but if things here go south, please leave my Tim out of it as best you can.”

Sammy lays his hand on top of hers. “Don’t you worry, Mary. Tim’s done more than enough.”

“We’ll take care of this, ma’am,” Daisy offers, the very picture of calm authority. “Just show us where he is.”

Taking a deep breath, Mary pulls open the door to the shed. Inside, the contents of the room have been hastily thrown to one side, leaving the back corner bare. A camping lantern perched on a table saw throws cool light over the interior of the shed, supplemented by the blue glow from Tim’s suit. Tim stands sternly at the edge of the empty space, and at his feet kneels a man. He’s wearing a sweater that is immediately recognizable as a twin to the oversized one that Jon wears nearly everywhere. He has his eyes closed when they enter the shed, but when Daisy and Sammy near the circle of light, they snap open.

The man looks exhausted. There’s an unhealthy pallor to his already pale skin, to the point where he almost seems to fade away around the edges. His green eyes are almost grey, and Sammy would be lying if he said they looked anything but cold.

Something in him brightens when he sees Daisy, but a warning noise from Tim has him shrinking back, and then he just looks afraid, peering up at them from under the dried blood caked across his forehead and down his temple. He’s not the most formidable sight, but Sammy knows that any wolf can hide in sheep’s clothing.

****************

Martin wrenches open Helen’s door and throws himself through it, collapsing heavily into the dusty grass on the other side. His journey through Helen’s corridors hadn’t been pleasant, but Helen seemed to have spared him the worst of it. Unfortunately, she either wouldn’t or hadn’t been able to tell him where he would emerge, other than “at the house of a friend.”

Martin takes a moment to lay there, trying to catch his bearings, before a sudden scream pierces through the lingering fog around his awareness. He forces his eyes open and comes face to face with a young girl who has protectively pulled herself between him and a younger boy who Martin can only assume is her younger brother.

He levers himself up on to his elbows, and they stare at one another in panicked shock. Suddenly the girl’s eyes go wide, and she shouts, the sound barely audible over her brother’s screams.

“Daddy! Help!”

There’s a sudden whirr of machinery somewhere in the dark off to Martin’s left, and all of a sudden something heavy slams into Martin, driving him back to the ground. Already exhausted, Martin does his best to struggle, but he quickly gives up at the feel of cold metal against his throat.

“Who sent you?” his assailant growls, grabbing hold of Martin’s hair with his free hand.

“N-no one,” Martin gasps. The edge of the knife digs into his throat as he speaks.

The man snarls angrily and slams Martin’s head against the ground, and Martin feels the skin of his forehead split where it meets a rock. “Try again. Tell me who sent you.”

There’s a small commotion happening somewhere behind Martin, but it’s difficult to focus on anything beyond the man on his back and the knife at this throat.

“Please,” he manages around a mouthful of dirt. “I came on my own. I’m looking for Sammy Stevens.”

“Why are you on my property?” The man’s voice is completely flat, and it’s impossible to tell if he was satisfied with Martin’s answer or not.

“I didn’t mean to be! I-I don’t know where I am.”

There’s a heavy pause, and then the man leans down right next to Martin’s ear and very slowly asks _“What did you want with the children?”_

It is eminently clear that of all the questions the man has asked, this one is most important.

“Nothing!” Martin stammers. “Please, you have to believe me. I don’t’ know where I am, I don’t even know who you are.”

Something in Martin’s plea must get through, because the man shifts back slightly, removing the blade form Martin’s neck. He doesn’t leave completely, however, so Martin waits, not daring to move.

“What’s you name?” The man’s voice is softer now, and Martin deems it safe enough to breathe a sigh of relief.

“Martin,” he offers, and the man stands up, releasing him.

“Alright, then. On your feet, Martin.”

Martin stands after only a brief hesitation and turns to face the man. He’s shorter than Martin but nearly as broad, everything but his head encased in a glowing metal suit. There’s no knife in his hand, but with gauntlets like that he probably wouldn’t need one.

The man notices Martin staring and frowns, roughly herding him away from the house. “Get a move on,” he says, and gives Martin a firm shove. Still unused to moving over ground that is actually where it appears to be, Martin stumbles, only to be yanked upright by a metal hand wrapped tight around his upper arm. He can feel the blood dripping down his face, sticky and hot in the evening air.

“Where are we going?” Martin asks quietly, casing a blurry eye about the yard as he is righted. The man leads him towards the shed in the corner, the only discernable feature on the property.

“Somewhere safe,” the man replies, “and you won’t get another word until we know you’re telling the truth.”

Well. That does make sense, Martin supposes, even if he would _really_ like to know what’s going on.

The man pulls open the door of the shed, ushering Martin through first. There’s a camping lantern perched on a table saw at the other end of the shed, throwing a cold white light over the cluttered workspace. Shoving Martin brusquely up against a wall and telling him to stay, the man quickly hefts two worktables to the side and pulls Martin back over.

“Sit,” he orders, pointing to the now empty space. Marin sinks to his knees and tucks himself into the corner. It’s much colder here than it was in London, his jumper nowhere near warm enough to keep out the chill, and he starts to shiver.

“Give me your hands.”

Martin looks up, confused, and the man gestures impatiently at him. “Stop wasting my time and give me your hands. I don’t want to hurt you, but if you keep making things difficult, I will.”

Wordlessly, Martin holds out his hands, and the man quickly secures them with some sort of rope. It itches, but Martin doesn’t bother to try and shift it. The initial terror from his flight is starting to dissipate, and nothing but emptiness moves to take its place. Instead, Martin curls up in his corner with his eyes closed and tries to mark the time by counting his breaths. He loses track twice and it doesn’t really work, but the time passes regardless.

Eventually, the door to the shed opens, and two people enter. The first is Daisy, still in her usual oversized leather jacket, but looking far healthier than Martin can ever remember her being. Next to her is a lanky man in a flannel shirt, his hair pulled up into a messy bun. Neither of them seems particularly happy to see him, but Martin supposes that they’re right not to, especially with the things he’s said while working for Peter. Still, he shifts slightly, trying to draw their attention, but a warning noise form the man has him cringing back. Daisy does look at him then, and suddenly Martin is afraid. She may not have her gun out, but she is just as capable of hurting him without one. Memories of the mottled bruising around Jon’s throat rise unbidden in his mind, the gash under Jon’s chin from the knife nestled among them.

Daisy looks away. “Yeah, that’s him. We’ll take it from here.”

The man grabs him by the arm again and hauls him to his feet, passing him off to Daisy. She shoves him towards the door, and he hurries to comply.

“Daisy, please, I-“

“No.” She cuts him off quickly. “Not until we know it’s safe.”

The lanky man hangs back, talking quietly with the armored one, but Daisy continues to prod Martin in the direction of the old SUV parked in the drive. Martin blanches when she pops the lid to the boot, but she just grabs the collar of his shirt and shoves him in anyway.

“Stay down,” she hisses, grabbing a blanket and throwing it on top of him. “We don’t want anyone else to know that you’re here.” She waits for him to nod, then pulls the blanket over his head and shuts the boot.

Martin is left alone, with only the echoes of his breath to fill the silence until the engine rumbles to life and drowns it out. He doesn’t know where Daisy is taking him, but it won’t do to dwell on it. There’s nothing he can do about it now save for disappearing into the Lonely, and he’s not fool enough to think that Peter will be kinder to him than Daisy. All he can do is wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! 👀 We're slowly but steadily approaching the finale!
> 
> Tune in next week for Moral Dilemmas
> 
> CW re:percieved danger to children: the children are never actually in danger and the reader knows this, but neither the children nor their parents do


	19. Out of Breath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something happened to Kirk this time, something worse than usual.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I'm still here! Time to hear some voices we haven't heard from in a while...
> 
> CW: illness, violence, starvation

Kirk is quiet when they bring him back. Not that he’s ever _loud, _per se, but usually he at least musters up a halfhearted smile in Jon’s direction. This time he just stumbles in through the open door and sits down where he lands, staring blankly at the corrugated steel wall before him.

Dragging in another ragged breath, Jon watches Kirk from where he’s curled up in his corner. Jon’s initial panic at their captivity has faded into his least favorite combination of dread and resignation, leaving him with barely enough energy to keep fighting the cold and his body in order to breathe.

Something happened to Kirk this time, something worse than usual. But Jon is shaking with hunger and fatigue, and he can’t figure out how to find out what happened without _asking_. The words should be right there, Jon can feel them just on the tip of his tongue, but everything is hazy through the hunger and they slip away every time Jon tries to reach for them. He lays in his corner and waits, watching Kirk as he watches the wall. The silence is thick and cloying, but Jon doesn’t dare break it; the space is barely large enough for the two of them without adding words into it anyway. Even as tucked as far into his corner as he can be, Jon could still reach out a hand and touch Kirk on the shoulder. He won’t, though, and not just because his hands are still cuffed together. Touch breeds familiarity, familiarity breeds complacency, and, well. The last thing Jon can let himself be is complacent, not when he’s as hungry as he is. Drawing Kirk’s attention would bring him one step closer to talking, and it’s hard enough for Jon to resist the urge to rip a statement out of him as it is.

His breath catches, and Jon coughs wetly, breaking the silence. He curls in on himself even further, trying to ease the strain on his already aching lungs and muscles, but it doesn’t help nearly as much as he had hoped.

It is, apparently, enough to spur Kirk into words. He doesn’t move, keeping his eyes fixed on the imaginary point on the wall, but his voice is slow and measured.

“You’re one of them, aren’t you?”

A startled noise escapes Jon before he can bite it back, and Kirk finally turns to look at him, revealing the bruise spreading across his right eye socket. The skin is already an angry red, and a trickle of blood oozes from a small cut across his cheekbone.

This is bad. This is very, very bad. There’s no telling what Kirk will do if he finds out what Jon really is, and Jon does not plan on discovering what that would be. He should have known that the solidarity brought by their shared suffering wouldn’t last, especially not when Gunderson started separating them.

“Look, I know you’re not human.”

Jon can’t help his full body flinch, but Kirk doesn’t look angry or afraid, just sad. He shifts to lean against the wall next to Jon and wraps his arms around his knees.

“It wasn’t hard to figure out. You haven’t had anything to eat or drink for nearly a week. You’re hungry, I know that, but any human would be suffering from organ failure at this point, especially with whatever is going on with your lungs.”

Jon doesn’t say anything. What even is there to say? Everything Kirk has said is true, and talking about the hunger won’t help him keep the compulsion down. _Listen to the quiet_, he and Daisy used to say. It’s a lot harder to do when your meal is chained up next to you and inquiring after your health.

Of course, Kirk keeps talking. “It’s how I got this, you know,” he says, gesturing broadly at the swelling on his face. “I tried to hide food to bring back to you, and, well… Gunderson took exception to that.”

Jon looks up, startled. That’s absurd, they don’t even actually know each other. He turns a wary eye on Kirk and really _looks_ this time, taking in the worn pyjamas, the faint burn scars covering his forearms, and the band of lighter skin around his left ring finger where a ring should have been.

“Which one are you with?” Kirk’s voice is carefully neutral, giving Jon the opportunity to back out. He considers turning away, but something in Kirk’s eyes stops him. There’s an emptiness there, and suddenly Jon realizes that he is not the only one hurt by his continued silence. Talking may still be out of the question, but there are other ways to communicate.

Wincing as the movement jostles his ribs, Jon pulls himself to his knees and carefully draws an open eye in the dirt floor of their cell, mindful of the bruises under the cuffs circling his wrists.

“Is that an eye?” Kirk leans forward, peering over Jon’s shoulder. “So you what – watch things?”

Jon nods, carefully watching Kirk’s face for any hint of a negative reaction, but the other man just gives Jon a small smile.

“That’s not so bad, isn’t it? At least you don’t hurt anyone.” Jon flinches again, but Kirk either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care. “I should tell you about what happened to Dwayne and I. He doesn’t like to talk about it, but – hey!”

Jon launches himself at Kirk. Startled, Kirk tries to scramble backwards, but there’s nowhere for him to go and Jon has his hands clamped over his mouth before he can finish his sentence.

Kirk stares up at him, the flicker of fear Jon has been waiting for finally crossing his face. Ignoring the swell of shame in his gut, Jon leans into his grip, leveraging his admittedly meagre body weight to try and keep the taller man down.

“Stop. Talking.” Jon growls.

Kirk makes a confused noise, and Jon bears down again to muffle the sound. He’s trembling with the effort of holding back the compulsion, and he grits out the rest of his explanation through teeth clenched so hard that they ache.

“You talk, I feed, and the Watcher grows stronger.”

Eyes wide, Kirk slowly nods, and Jon cautiously removes his hands.

“So you feed on people’s stories?”

Jon sits back on his heels and lets the bitter laugh spill past his lips despite the sour feeling it leaves behind. “No. I feed on people’s _trauma_.”

“But it-“

“No,” Jon snarls.

“We could-“

“I said no!” Jon all but shouts, doubling over in a fit of coughing with the exertion. Kirk lays a careful hand on his bare shoulder, waiting for him to finish. It’s the first time Kirk’s touched Jon since he woke up here, and Jon can’t help but lean into the warmth. He’s nearly vibrating with the effort of stopping Kirk’s statement, and he eventually caves and opens his mouth to relieve the pressure.

“Sammy,” he grits out. “Ben?” The abrupt change of topic helps a little, enough that he can slap a question mark at the end of Ben’s name without letting the compulsion slip out.

The hand disappears from his back, and Kirk hangs his head. “I didn’t see them. I think they’re still alive, though. Gunderson, he…he made me listen again.”

Right. It could be worse, Jon supposes. At least they know that Sammy and Ben are still alive, even if they’re not okay. Though if the things Kirk has heard are true, then that may not be much of a mercy.

Jon’s body is gripped by another fit of coughing, and any sort of conscious thought beyond the pain in his chest flies from his mind as he collapses. Kirk is at his side in an instant, guiding him to roll onto his side and steadying him as he convulses. His chest feels as though it’s being ripped apart, and he can’t even muster the strength to wipe away the spit and phlegm as it drips from his mouth. Through all of this Kirk continues to hold Jon, running a steady hand gently down his back, careful not to touch the spot where Jon’s missing ribs leave everything a bit more vulnerable than it ought to be.

Eventually the coughing subsides, and Jon sags, shivering, against the cold floor. The pain lingers, and despite Jon’s best efforts, it’s simply too much. Jon doesn’t bother protesting when Kirk pulls him off the ground and into his lap, instead closing his eyes and letting himself slip away into merciful unconsciousness. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! comments/kudos always appreciated :) 
> 
> You can’t just remove ribs, they are Necessary. Poor Jon. 
> 
> Tune in next week for unwelcome revelations


	20. The Root Cellar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “So it’s back to this again, is it?” Martin bites out through bared teeth. “I thought you were done interrogating people.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a little short, but it was _not_ easy to write.  
Some bits of dialogue are taken from TMA 
> 
> CW violence, suicidal ideation

Sammy struggles to remain impassive as Basira all but throws Martin down onto the metal folding chair. At least Daisy seems equally uncomfortable. She hides it better than Sammy does, but there’s something subtly different about the way she’s standing behind Martin, almost as though she’s trying to guard, rather than protect.

Martin rights himself and glares defiantly up at Basira, squinting only slightly into the lantern light silhouetting her. “So it’s back to this again, is it?” he bites out through bared teeth. “I thought you were done interrogating people.”

“We know you’re working with Lukas.” Her voice is completely even as Basira leans back, her arms crossed. Martin laughs hollowly, and Sammy sees her eyes narrow. It’s a bold move, baiting her like that, and one that is unlikely to end well.

“Do you, now?” Martin scoffs. “What was it that tipped you off? The new office? The paperwork filed with HR? The fact that no one has been disappeared in weeks? It’s not like it was ever a secret.”

Basira does _not_ like that answer, if the way she uncrosses and recrosses her arms is anything to go by. “Cut to the chase, Martin. What exactly were you doing for him?”

“You know I was researching the Extinction.” Martin’s voice is still carefully casual, but anger pours off him in waves.

Basira stiffens, and Sammy swears that he can hear her teeth grind together from where he’s standing on the other side of the room. “What _else_ were you doing. That can’t have been everything.”

“A lot of admin? Look, I don’t know what you want me to say. Peter was never particularly forthcoming with any information, so I honestly don’t really know all that much.”

Basira slaps him. Sammy supposes he shouldn’t have been surprised, but the noise was loud and sudden. He takes a step forward, ready to intervene, but Martin just looks at Basira and laughs again.

“Really? After everything that’s happened, do you really think that I’m going to be scared of _you_?”

Taken aback, Basira pauses for just a moment before pushing on, leaning over Martin to try and regain her advantage. “Why were you doing it?”

“Why was I doing it? To _protect_ you.”

“And you really expect me to believe that.”

“Why shouldn’t you? Is it really that fucking hard to believe that I cared?” Something doesn’t quite ring true in Martin’s answer, and Basira can sense it too. Like a shark drawn to blood in the water, she homes in on the crack in Martin’s armor, straightening to her full height and looking down at him contemptuously.

“We didn’t even like each other.”

The words she spits out are sharp, meant to hurt, and evidently they do. Martin crumples, the fight draining out of him as he sags in the chair. He drops eye contact with Basira to stare halfheartedly at the floor.

“Fine. At first – yeah. I thought I had lost everything. Jon was dead, my mother was dead, and I… I really didn’t care what happened to me. Maybe I just thought working for Peter was a good way to get killed. But then Jon came back, and suddenly I had a reason to keep Peter’s attention on me. Not that it matters anymore. I still failed to keep him safe.” Martin’s breathing doesn’t shift, his posture doesn’t change, but when he raises his head, Sammy can see tear tracks glistening on his cheeks.

Basira softens, just slightly, pitching her voice a little quieter but no less stern. “So what were you doing for Elias, then?”

Martin blinks, confused. “I – what? I wasn’t doing anything for Elias.”

“We know you went to visit him.”

“So did you!” Martin retorts, though he looks almost startled by his own vehemence.

Basira raises and eyebrow and pins Martin with a look. “Then I suppose you’ll be surprised to know that he’s gone.”

Martin blanches, all color draining from his face. “What? Gone, how? When did this happen?”

“I got the alert moments after you hung up on Stevens. Funny coincidence, that.”

“I didn’t tell him,” Martin insists, and Sammy knows with certainty that he’s telling the truth. The desperate quaver in his voice is too real to be faked, the slight tremor not just in his hands but in his shoulders too subtle to be put on.

But Basira doesn’t see it.

“Really? You expect me to believe that?” She leans in and gets right in Martin’s face, and for the first time, Martin shrinks back.

“Peter was standing right there,” he insists, pressing himself as far back against the chair as he can. “He heard everything.”

It’s Basira’s turn to laugh now. “Of course he was.”

Behind Martin, Daisy shifts just slightly, allowing a frown to cross her face. Sammy mirrors her action without hesitation, his shoulders slumping slightly in relief. He’s stood by so far, but as the situation unfolds it is rapidly becoming clear that he won’t be able to do so for much longer.

Hunched beneath Basira’s arms, Martin gasp out an unsteady reply. “Is it really so hard to believe that I’m trying to protect Jon? I promised him that I wouldn’t let him be taken again, and I _failed_.”

“Yes, it is!” Basira nearly shouts, grabbing the front of Martin’s shirt. He flinches back but makes no move to stop her. “I think Lukas sent you.”

“Basira,” Daisy warns, putting a hand on Martin’s shoulder. “This is too far.”

Martin startles at the touch and turns to look at Daisy with wide eyes, but Basira doesn’t back down, wrenching Martin around to face her again.

“We can’t trust him, Daisy. He’s been working for Lukas for far too long.” Martin lets out a muffled cry as she shoves him back in the chair, and Sammy takes advantage of Basira’s divided attention to take another step forward.

“I’m not working for Peter anymore,” Martin gasps. “He came for me after your phone call. Helen is the only reason I’m not trapped in the Lonely right now.”

Basira’s gaze snaps back to his. “Is this true?”

“Yes! I swear!”

Daisy glares pointedly at Basira, her hand still on Martin’s shoulder.

“Fine. But don’t think this means I actually trust you.” She lets go of him and steps away, turning to go back up the stairs. Daisy comes around to the front of the chair and crouches, flipping open a knife and cutting through the ropes binding Martin’s hands.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Martin mutters, rubbing his sore wrists.

Suddenly the door at the top of the stairs is thrown open, and Ben rushes down, nearly colliding with Basira as he stumbles to a stop at the bottom. Ash drifts down the open cellar door behind him, settling lightly on his head and shoulders. He’s breathing heavily, and Sammy’s stomach plummets as he takes in Ben’s wide eyes and shaking hands.

“We need to move, now,” Ben gasps, his voice ragged and unsteady. “Grisham’s issued an evacuation notice. The reactor at the Science Institute is going into meltdown.”

There’s a beat of shocked silence as everyone processes what was said, then the room lurches back into motion. Daisy and Basira make straight for Ben, steering him back towards the cabin while suddenly halfway into a conversation about what parts of the Institute have been mapped out. Martin wobbles and collapses back into the chair as he tries to stand, and Sammy hurries forward to help him up. An awkward moment passes where Martin just stares confusedly at Sammy’s outstretched hand, but he soon reaches out and takes it, levering himself onto his feet. He doesn’t get much further, however, and he ends up swaying slightly in place while staring off into the middle distance.

“We’re getting him back,” Sammy declares, hoping to drag Martin back into focus. “We can do this.”

Martin blink and looks up at him, seeming to almost solidify around the edges. “You really think so?”

“I know so,” Sammy declares, easily wrapping an arm around Martin’s shoulder. “If any can make a plan like this it’s Ben.”

Martin smiles shakily and pulls himself together a little bit more with slow, steady breaths. “How many of you are there, then?”

“There’s five of us at the house, but I wouldn’t wish for another more.”

Martin just stares blankly back at Sammy, and now it’s Sammy’s turn to awkwardly duck his head. He didn’t think the reference was _that _bad.

“Hey, don’t judge. It’s the only Shakespeare I know.”

“Right…”

“Well, come on, then,” Sammy says, steering Martin in the direction of the stairs. “Let’s go introduce you to the others.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: the Shakespeare Sammy references is the Saint Crispin's Day speech from Henry V, which is the only Shakespeare monologue I can do at the drop of a hat, and one of the few bits of Shakespeare that I think Sammy might know.
> 
> Next Week: the band is back together (almost)


	21. Is Truth a Changing Law

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh no. Jack and Lily _Wright_. It’s so, so obvious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's this? A finalized chapter count? In _my_ fic?? Back when I started this, I set myself the start of Season 5 as an arbitrary deadline, thinking that it gave me far more than enough time. Little did I know how this fic would grow! I'm still kinda hoping to get it done by then, but that'll be dependent on a number of factors, so I can't say anything for sure. 
> 
> In this chapter: no one has all the facts, and as per usual, this causes problems

Martin is grateful for the weight of Sammy’s arm around his shoulders as they hurry across the yard to the cabin. They’re not outside for long, but it’s more than enough for him to feel the Lonely sink into him, a damp chill that cuts far deeper than King Fall’s brisk winter wind ever could.

The feeling persists even when they duck inside, and he has half a mind to reach out when Sammy briefly lets go of him to enter the kitchen. But Sammy returns before Martin can fully process the thought, the young man who had bolted down the stairs earlier close on his heels.

Despite the seriousness of the situation, the younger man is nevertheless enthusiastic when he grabs Martin’s hand and eagerly introduces himself.

“Hi! You must be Martin, right? I’m Ben Arnold, we spoke on the phone a few weeks ago. It’s nice to meet you, even if the circumstances are terrible.”

Martin blinks at him, overwhelmed by the force of the Ben’s personality.

“Hello,” he manages, with a tentative smile that he is surprised to find actually feels genuine. The smile Ben gives him in return is blinding, if brief. He lets go of Martin’s hand and turns to Sammy.

“Daisy and Basira want us out of the house and ready to move in fifteen minutes. Will that be enough time to get Jack ready?”

Sammy waves a hand dismissively. “Absolutely. Which cars are we in?”

Ben casts a quick glance back into the kitchen before quietly responding. Martin can hear voices from the other room – Basira and Daisy must be in there. “Jack and Lily are in Herschel’s Jeep. We’re still figuring out the rest.”

Nodding, Sammy squares his shoulders. “Good. I’m gonna take Martin to the back with me to help with Jack. You keep an eye on Daisy and Basira, you hear me?”

“Sure thing, buddy. One foolproof plan for infiltration the Science Institute, coming right up.” Ben flashes a cheeky grin and disappears back into the kitchen. Martin watches him go, more than a little confused.

With a jerk of his head, Sammy motions for Martin to follow him into one of the two back rooms, guiding him quickly past the open doorway to the kitchen. Martin tries to listen in, but he doesn’t pick up anything more than Ben and Basira having an intense discussion about a jack in the box.

The moment they step into the back room, it’s like the world shifts. It’s hard to place in the absence of the usual markers, but when he sees the tape recorder in the hands of the woman standing next to the bed, everything clicks into place. The weight of the Beholding lands on his shoulders like a wet woolen blanket in summer, and he stumbles.

Sammy is at his side in an instant, guiding him to sit on one of the empty bunk beds. Martin shudders under the scrutiny, faintly aware of the woman staring at him with wide eyes. There’s a murmured question from the other side of the room, and Martin suddenly realizes that there’s a fourth person in the room. He looks up, sees the man, and panics. 

Fighting the urge to dash across the room, Martin grabs Sammy tightly by the arm. “Who are they?” he asks urgently. “What are they doing?” He doesn’t like this, not one bit. Do they not know? Is Sammy letting this happen?

Sammy gently places his hands on Martin’s shoulders and crouches down in front of him. “Hey, it’s okay. This is my fiancé, Jack Wright, and his sister, Lily.”

Oh no. Jack and Lily _Wright._ It’s so, so obvious. Martin’s stomach twists unpleasantly. “You have to separate them,” he insists. Sammy flinches, but Martin plows on. Sammy needs to know what’s happening. “She’s hurting him.”

“Martin, what are you talking about?”

Martin nearly shakes him, how can he not see that Jack isn’t safe, that Elias is trying to finish what he started? “Your eyes, it’s how you- you get away from it. Sammy, can’t you see? They’re his _children_. Jack was safe, he managed to get away, but now she’s brought it here, she led him straight to Jack and now he can _see_.” Martin shoves Sammy away and lurches to his feet, glaring at the woman. “Why did Elias send you?”

Lily’s surprise quickly turns to anger, and she stalks around the bed and gets right in Martin’s face. “Listen, you,” she growls, poking Martin in the center of his chest. “I don’t know who you are, but you’re not allowed to talk to my brother and I like that. We’ve only just gotten him back from the Dark, and if you ever suggest that I would ever hurt him in any way again, I will make you regret it.”

Martin isn’t going to back down. It’s too late for him, but if there’s anything he can do to help one more person get away from the Elias, then he will do it. He leans forward and is about to retort when Sammy draws him back. Sammy looks horrified – but there’s pity in his eyes.

“Martin, you need to calm down and listen. The Dark took Jack’s eyes, okay? They found out that James Wright’s son was investigating their ritual, and they took him, and they blinded him. Lily and I found him, and with Jon’s help, we were able to save him. No one in this room serves the Beholding. Do you understand?”

Martin absolutely does not agree, but he nods anyway. He’s clearly not going to win this argument, and he can protect them better if he doesn’t let them drive him away.

As if sensing his reluctance, Sammy gives his arm a squeeze that is probably meant to be comforting and calls back to Jack.

“Jack, would you mind telling Martin that everything’s alright?”

Jack has turned to face them, and his expression softens into a reassuring smile as Martin watches suspiciously. “Don’t worry, Martin. Lily isn’t working for Elias, I promise. I know that my situation must be confusing for you – Basira doesn’t like it either. But I have nothing to fear from Lily.”

The statement is too carefully worded, and Martin knows it. If he were to hazard a guess, he’d say that Jack also knows that Martin knows, but it’s difficult to tell. He’s pretty certain that Lily isn’t the dangerous one, though. Jack probably wouldn’t try and tell an outright falsehood like that, not to someone he knows has a connection to the Eye, and Elias’s name rolled far too easy off his tongue for him not to know. Regardless of the situation, Martin needs to back down. These people are his only chance to get Jon back from the Extinction, and he’d be a fool to alienate them now.

Martin nods in acquiescence, then remembers to say something out loud for Jack. “Sorry for jumping to conclusions so quickly. I believe you.” There. Another careful but technically truthful answer.

The look of gratitude Jack gives him seems genuine enough, however, and Lily seems to have backed down a bit as well. A noise to his left catches his attention, and he turns to see Sammy holding out two duffle bags in his direction.

“Can you take these? Lily can grab the other two and I’ll help Jack out to the car.”

Martin hefts the proffered bags with ease and watches as Sammy helps Jack lace on a sturdy pair of boots. There’s a sort of ease between them, a coordination to their movements around one another that makes the ache in Martin’s chest grow until he has to look away.

“Where are we going?” Jack asks quietly, breaking the silence.

Sammy pauses briefly, one boot half on Jack’s left foot. “You’re going north, over the border. We’ll meet you there after.”

“Sammy-“

Sammy presses a finger to Jack’s lips and shakes his head. “No, Jack. I have to stay. I can’t leave Kirk and Jon in there. I’ll meet you after, I promise.”

Sammy makes a quiet noise, and Martin looks over to see Sammy and Jack locked in a tight embrace. Jack presses a kiss to the top of Sammy’s head before letting go.

“I’m so proud of you, Sammy,” he whispers. “You’re amazing, and I know you’ll come back to me. I love you.”

Sammy laughs quietly and wipes the tears from his eyes. “I love you too,” he replies, and rises to his feet.

Jack stands easily, looping a hand through Sammy’s elbow, and the group makes its way out to the cars. Herschel helps them get Jack and Lily settled in the backseat of the Jeep while Ben finishes wrapping up the conversation with the others clustered around the bonnet of the SUV. Sammy takes the bags from Martin, and soon after Daisy picks her way over, coming to stand silently at his side. After a moment she subtly leads him a few steps away, enough to be out of earshot but still near to the group.

“Are you alright?” she asks quietly.

Cautiously, Martin nods. They haven’t really spoken since he pushed her away back in the archives, and he has no idea what she wants. She turns to face him, her hands uncharacteristically shoved into the pockets of her leather jacket, her shoulders hunched.

“Look, I’m sorry about earlier. I was… rougher than I could have been when you arrived, and then Basira was way out of line.” Daisy glances quickly back to the others and shifts to stand in front of him before continuing. “We need her with us at the Institute, but I need you to tell me if she does anything, _anything_, like that again while we’re there. If you don’t want to tell me you can tell Sammy, but please tell someone. I know you’ve been busy with Lukas so you might not have noticed, but she’s changed since the Unknowing, particularly around Jon. We’ll figure out what else to do after this, but for now, let us help you, alright?”

Despite her obvious discomfort, or perhaps because of it, Daisy looks completely sincere. Martin feels himself relax as he nods.

“Yeah. I can do that. And thanks, for stepping in. You didn’t have to do that.”

Daisy frowns. “Yes, I did,” she says, in a tone that offers no room for argument. “But that’s a discussion for another time.” She claps him good-naturedly on the shoulder, reaching up a bit to make the distance work. “I’ll see you when we get there.”

And then she walks back to the others, leaving Martin to watch her go. It wasn’t the conversation he’d expected to have with Daisy, but there’s a small kernel of warmth blooming in his chest. It’s been a long time since someone has inspired that feeling, but it’s not unwelcome. He thinks it might be friendship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nothing overtly horrible happened this chapter! Yay!
> 
> Next week: a turning point


	22. Unconditional Surrender

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Jon, something’s happening. You need to get out of here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is short, but consider it a snack to tide you over to the next one. Due to _events_ my writing schedule is probably going to shift dramatically, and my publishing schedule will as well. I'm going to aim for two chapters a week, one over the weekend and another mid-week. Until things settle down on my end I won't be able to designate specific days, but I'll keep you all posted here in the notes as it develops. Just know that you definitely won't be waiting a week for the next chapter after this one to come out. 
> 
> This chapter: decision time
> 
> CW have been moved to the end notes to allow those who don't want to spoilers to avoid them since we're nearing the climax, but if you're worried, please check them, especially for this chapter.

Kirk has been gone for far too long. Jon knows that he’s lost the ability to judge time accurately, that the slow drag of air through his damaged lungs is no longer anywhere near regular enough to stand in for a clock, but even in the absence of any external indicator, Kirk’s absence stretches.

The air feels different this time too, somehow charged, as though Jon is suspended in the half-second before Mike Crew sent him falling all that time ago. There’s still a part of Jon that’s intrigued by it, is hungry to investigate the reasons why, but it’s quickly waning. Jon is _tired_, and it’s getting increasingly harder to do anything more than pull air in and out of his aching chest. Even the hunger is quiet, except for those first few moments when Kirk is brought back. Then the urge to breathe fades, edged out by Jon’s desperate fight to keep the Beholding at bay. He inevitably startles awake gasping, curled in his corner, while Kirk hovers concernedly by the door. They’d learned pretty quick that Kirk touching Jon while he was unconscious only made coming out of it worse.

Finally, Jon is delivered from his spiraling thoughts by the click of the door opening. He braces for the usual hunger to hit, but he is left in anticipation. Instead of the whirring that he has come to associate with the automaton returning Kirk to their cell, Jon only hears the thud of a body hitting the floor. Adrenaline born from panic floods through him, temporarily giving him the strength to pick his head up off the floor and half roll over to face the door.

Gunderson stands silhouetted in the doorway, looming over Kirk’s crumpled body at his feet. His eyes are hidden in the shadows of his incongruously absurd hat, but Jon can feel the disdain in his voice as Gunderson growls, “You’re next, _Archivist_,” before turning and slamming the door.

Kirk coughs weakly, and Jon’s eyes snap to him. He hadn’t dared to hope that Kirk would still be alive, but maybe there’s still time. Suddenly the tiny room is entirely too large as Jon struggles to crawl towards him, too weak to do more than drag himself a little bit at a time. The effort makes his diaphragm seize, and he wastes several precious moments trying to keep himself from coughing up what’s left of his lungs. Eventually the coughing subsides, and the sound of another shaky rasp from Kirk is enough to inspire him to move again.

To Jon’s horror, Kirk looks even worse close up. There’s startlingly little blood, but the distance had hidden a myriad of bruises. Kirk’s left eye is swollen nearly shut, and a hand-shaped ring of fresh bruises peeks out above the collar of his shirt. Jon carefully places a hand on his forehead, and Kirk flinches, forcing his eyes open.

“Hey,” he wheezes, squeezing the words out in between rattling breaths. He sounds awful, though judging by the state of his throat, it’s a miracle he can speak at all.

Jon hovers, not entirely sure what to do. Kirk’s injuries are far beyond his first aid knowledge, and any step he could take still feels wholly inadequate in the face of the damage Gunderson inflected. He rushes through five separate questions in his mind before settling on a genuine, if entirely insufficient, “How are you?”

Kirk huffs the smallest of laughs, even though it ends in a whimper and a trickle of blood down his chin.

“I’ve been better,” he croaks. “I think the bastard broke a few of my ribs.”

_That and a few other things_, Jon carefully does not say. Instead, he gently tugs Kirk up into his lap and turns his head to the side. The movement draws a noise of pain from Kirk, but he does seem to breathe a little easier afterward.

“Listen, Jon,” Kirk begins, but Jon shushes him. He needs to find a way to bring down the swelling in Kirk’s throat, and talking certainly isn’t going to help. But apparently Kirk doesn’t realize this, because he keeps talking and feebly tries to bat Jon’s hand away.

“Jon, something’s happening.” Kirk pauses to swallow, and this time Jon lets him continue without fuss. The last thing he wants to do is hurt Kirk even more. “You need to get out of here.”

No. No, this can’t be happening. Not again, _please_.

“Neither of us are strong enough to escape,” Jon reminds him. He needs to redirect the conversation, needs to prevent Kirk from doing this. If he can’t… well. He can’t say he hasn’t already considered what Kirk is about to offer, but even the thought of it sickens him. He’s been trying _so hard_. He can’t give in now. Please, not now.

Kirk shakes his head as vehemently as he can manage. “But you can be.”

The Beholding opens a lazy eye, and Jon stifles a pained gasp as the force of its hunger surges through him. It’s _ravenous_, filling all the spaces within Jon that aren’t currently occupied with holding Kirk.

“Kirk, no,” Jon pleads. “I’m not leaving you to die.” Because that’s what it would be. There’s so little of Kirk left, and the Beholding is merciless. It would strip everything it could from him, not caring whether or not he had the strength to survive it.

Kirk grabs Jon’s hand, his grip surprisingly strong. “Gunderson’s planning something, Jon. You have to stop it.”

“I’m not going to take your statement. I won’t do that to you.” _Please don’t make me do that to you_. Jon sucks in another ragged breath, and tears start to well in the corners of his eyes. If Gunderson really is planning something, then Kirk is right. There’s no guarantee that the others even know about it, let alone that they’ll be able to regroup in time to stop him.

“Please,” Kirk begs, maintaining determined eye contact with Jon as he says it. “Dwayne and I have been on borrowed time ever since we met that thing in the mountains. It’s okay.”

Jon peels Kirk’s hand off his own shaking ones and plants it on his chest. “It’s not okay. I don’t want to, please,” he whispers through his tears, even as he acknowledges, deep down, that it’s the only logical choice.

Kirk smiles, sad and soft. “You have to, Jon. I’m giving it to you.”

It’s horrible and awful and Jon hates it with every fiber of his being, but he nods. “I – okay.”

All at once the clamor in his mind grows still, and he draws in his first uninhibited breath.

“Statement of Kirk Thompson, regarding an encounter in the mountains. Statement given freely by subject.” A pause. He glances at Kirk, giving him one last chance to back out, but the man just gives an encouraging nod. “Statement begins.”

Kirk takes a single, easy breath, and begins to speak. His eyes glaze over, and Jon shudders, feeling uncomfortably voyeuristic. Jon tries not to focus on the story, letting the details pass through him and into the Beholding in an attempt to give the man some semblance of privacy even as he is laid bare before the Eye. Instead he listens to the sound of Kirk’s voice and lets the rising swell of euphoria that comes with a statement wash over him.

It’s been a while since Jon has encountered a statement featuring the Desolation, and the Beholding is well pleased. It happens startlingly quickly, but soon each of Jon’s breaths comes a little easier, a little clearer. The aching wound in his thigh fades, and his hair no longer sticks painfully to the raw burn at the back of his neck. His hands grow steadier where they clasp Kirk’s, and by the end, Jon is no longer hungry. He lets the final words of Kirk’s statement reverberate in the empty air for a moment, then inhales, deep and clear.

“Statement ends,” he declares, and Kirk smiles.

“Thank you,” Kirk whispers, giving Jon’s hands a weak squeeze. His breaths are shallow and rattling again, his face paler than before. Jon takes a moment to brush the stray bit of hair back from where they’d clung to Kirk’s sweaty face, and his heart sinks. Kirk’s forehead had been burning hot before, but it now feels cold and clammy underneath his fingertips.

The Beholding ever so graciously deigns to inform Jon that Kirk is dying, as though he hasn’t already seen it for himself. Jon sends it a mental _fuck you_ and turns his attention to the man laying in his lap.

“I’m going to get you out of here,” Jon promises determinedly. Kirk deserves to have hope, even in his last moments. It’s not fair, _none_ of this is fucking fair, but it’s the least Jon can do. Deep down, the Beholding gives a victorious little trill, and Jon shoves it viciously away.

Kirk smiles sadly through the tears that accumulated during his statement. “No, you’re not. But you are going to get yourself out of here and save King Falls. Make sure Dwayne doesn’t join me too soon.”

Jon is too overwhelmed to actually form words so he just nods, gripping Kirk’s hand tight. Kirk’s breaths are coming further apart now, moments of interminable silence stretching between them. He takes one more breath, this one a little deeper, a little longer.

And then the door slams open.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two things:  
1\. This chapter was always going to end here regardless of my posting schedule  
2\. I thrive on external validation and commenting/giving kudos will definitely encourage me to write faster? 
> 
> Next week: a confrontation
> 
> CW for illness, graphic depiction of injuries (minimal blood), aftermath of torture, suicidal/self-sacrificing actions, death/dying


	23. Collateral Payment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It had seemed like a stroke of luck at the time, but the further into the Institute they get, the more disconcerting it seems.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapters are the order of the week, apparently. Still no further details on a posting schedule. 
> 
> This chapter: a debt is collected
> 
> CW in end notes

The grim, cinderblock corridors of the Science Institute seem interminable, each apparent dead-end revealing intersections with yet more tunnels that stretch out into the bowls of the complex. Sammy keeps a close eye on Daisy as she forges ahead, leading their little group through the barren structure. She stops every so often, scenting the air, and seems to know exactly where they are and where they’re heading. Her keen senses have already saved them once, allowing them to bypass an ambush from Tim1000 shortly after entering the building. It had seemed like a stroke of luck at the time, but the further into the Institute they get, the more disconcerting it seems. Daisy is either _very_ good at avoiding other people, or the complex is almost entirely empty. The guards that usually patrolled the walls were gone, and the small security checkpoint they had passed had been abandoned. The emptiness seems to press down on him, and Sammy fancies that he can feel the weight of the complex above them pressing down on him as they go deeper. Everything about the place is unsettling, from the featureless walls to the deliberately inadequate lighting – work lights in metal cages line the hallway, spaced just far enough apart that their circles of illumination do not touch.

The oppressiveness is bothering the others too, Sammy can tell. Ben and Basira had taken the information gathered during the previous break-ins and come up with a plan of attack that was as solid as it could be, given the circumstances, but the further in they get, the twitchier everyone has become. Sammy is pretty sure that he’s seen flashes of a knife tucked up Daisy’s sleeve, but he’s too afraid to ask. Even Ben is unsettled, his usual enthusiasm curbed to the point where he won’t leave Sammy’s side. The only ones unaffected by the environment are Dwayne and Martin. Dwayne has been dialed up to eleven since they left the cabin, and while he’s wound tight as a bowstring, he’s got nowhere more to go. Sammy sees him, sees the echo of a man who has pushed everything aside except what has to be done right now to move forwards, and wonders what is going to be the thing that break him.

Martin is harder to get a read on. He’s been nothing but polite to Sammy since the misunderstanding about Jack, but it’s so painfully deliberate that Sammy isn’t going to put much stock in it. When interacting with the others, Martin is in turns desperate to please and utterly standoffish. It’s a good thing that Daisy’s been keeping an eye on him, because she’s the only one who seems to be able to read his moods. Ben is pretty good at it too, particularly with touch. Sometimes a gentle hand on Martin’s arm is enough to pull him back from the edge of animosity, but Ben also seems to always know when to shift away. They make an amusing sight as they walk down the corridor, the curls on top of Ben’s head not even reaching the curve of Martin’s shoulder.

Ahead of them, Daisy halts, holding up a hand to indicate that they all do the same. This corridor is different from the rest. Two deserted security stations flank the other side of the intersection, and beyond them, the hall is lined with heavy metal doors. The place would be unmistakably a prison of some sort even if each door wasn’t securely deadbolted on the outside. The group stops and listens. As the noise of their movement settles, Sammy can just hear the faint sounds of muffled crying from somewhere down the corridor. Daisy motions for them to stay and creeps silently down the hall, pausing by each pair of doors to check for sound. About halfway down, she stops, and motions for the others to join her. Basira and Dwayne step forwards and get ready to throw the bolt as Daisy takes up a position to breach the door. Sammy, Ben, and Martin hover nearby, tucked out of the way of the action but still within sight of the door.

At a nod form Daisy, Basira throws the bolt. It slides free with a clang, and Daisy kicks the door open, surging into the room. She stops, stunned, and the group hurries to look over her shoulder.

The cell is absolutely tiny, resembling something more like an old-timey air raid shelter than a habitable space. Jon is hunched protectively over someone in the approximate middle of the space, staring back at them with terrified eyes. There’s barely room for Daisy on top of the current occupants, though that doesn’t seem to deter Basira as she shoves her way through the door. Stooping down, she picks up a tape recorder that had been lying by the two figures, and her expression goes cold. She grabs Jon by the front of his shirt and hauls him to his feet, heedless of the body that had been propped in his lap. Sammy doesn’t recognize the other man, but the cry of anguish from Dwayne means it can only be Kirk.

_“What did you do?”_ Basira growls, shoving Jon back against the wall. He panics, pawing ineffectively at her arms.

There’s another shout and a bit of a scuffle as both Dwayne and Martin try to rush through the door at the same time. Sammy steps back to give them a bit of room, but a chill at the nape of his neck stops him in his tracks.

“Oh, he didn’t do anything worse than what had already been done,” says a wry voice from over Sammy’s shoulder. Even before the man has finished speaking, Sammy finds himself propelled to the other side of the hallway, wrapped securely in Ben’s arms. The man looms over them, tall and thin. A captain's hat perches jauntily on his head, but the brim isn't large enough to hide the chill in his eyes.

_“That’s Peter Lukas,”_ Ben whispers urgently in Sammy’s ear. _“He serves the Lonely. Don’t let go of my hand.”_

Sammy does not plan on ever letting go of Ben’s hand. He remembers this chill, the way it had oozed from Ben’s form when Herschel had pulled him from the boat ramp, and the fog suddenly wafting through the corridor makes sense now. He tightens his grip on Ben and looks back to check on the rest of the group.

Basira still has Jon pinned against the wall, but both of them are clearly more focused on Lukas than anything else. Daisy and Martin are stood shoulder to shoulder in the doorway, and Sammy’s pretty sure he sees the flash of metal when Daisy slips Martin a knife behind her back. Martin, nearly vibrating with anger, takes an aggressive step forward.

“What are you doing here, Peter?”

Peter chuckles. “What do you think I’m doing, Martin? I’m here for you! You thought you could run from the Lonely, but I’m afraid it’s far, far too late for that. No, I’m afraid you'll be coming with me.”

Martin opens his mouth to protest, but Peter just smiles. He cocks his head to the right just slightly, and Martin starts to fade. In seconds there’s nothing left but the impression of movement where he had stood.

Sammy and Ben are frozen in shock, but Daisy shakes it off, surging forwards. A heartbeat passes when Sammy is sure he’s about to see Daisy plunge a knife into Peter’s chest, but Peter holds out a hand and she skids to a stop.

“I wouldn’t do that, if I were you,” he warns. “Not if you ever want to see him again.”

A low growl cuts the air as Jon appears in the doorway next to her, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

“Bring him back,” he demands, and Sammy finds himself swaying with the force of the power laced into Jon’s voice.

Seemingly unaffected, Peter tips his hat. “No, I don’t think I will. Goodbye, Jon. Good luck.”

And then he, too, is gone.

Jon swears vehemently, gesturing sharply with his arms. “I have to go after them.”

“It’s going to be a trap,” Daisy cautions, but she doesn’t move to stop him. Instead she offers him a knife, but he refuses it and turns to start pacing back and forth in the hallway.

“Jon,” Sammy says, and Jon looks up, startled. “Go get him.” Sammy pours every ounce of support he can into the sentence, every ounce of hope he ever held for Jack, every moment of regret for his own inaction. A look of understanding and solidarity passes across Jon’s face, and he nods with finality. Jon takes a deep breath, collects himself, and steps out of existence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... soon we will have answers. 
> 
> Next Week: a mistake
> 
> CW this chapter: violence, threats of violence, canon-typical Lonely, claustrophobia 
> 
> Huge thanks to everyone who gives comments/kudos, you are all amazing!


	24. Critical Excursion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “We need to keep moving,” Basira says. “We need to find Gunderson before it’s too late.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All I can say is that I hope this chapter is worthy. 
> 
> This chapter: a reckoning
> 
> CW in the end notes, tags have been updated

Daisy lets herself smile as Jon steps into the Lonely. He needs this, needs Martin to anchor him. Perter Lukas may be a right bastard, but he should know better than to stand between Jon and Martin. He deserves whatever Jon is going to do to him, and Daisy grins at the thought of it.

A small cry from inside the cell pulls her back, and the smile slips from her face as she remembers what she had seen. The man on the floor had not deserved what had been done to him. His injuries are an open book to those how know how to read them – a slow, painful death unless countered by expert medical care. For moment, Daisy wonders whether or not it would be kinder to put him out of his misery, but then Ben stumbles into the room next to her. He immediately rushes over to Dwayne, steadying him while reaching out to check the injured man’s pulse. He confirms what Daisy can hear – that his heartbeat is weak, but surprisingly steady. What he cannot hear is the steady hiss of oxygen bleeding out from the man’s lungs into his chest cavity. It’s difficult to make out over the air dragging through his damaged trachea, but Daisy knows what to listen for.

Moving deliberately, she kneels down across from Ben and Dwayne. She can smell the fear on both of them, but Ben seems to be holding it together okay. It won’t be easy, but he’ll be able to get them out, if she can nudge them in the right direction.

“He needs to get to a hospital,” she says, watching their reactions. Ben nods, and, to her surprise, so does Dwayne. The panic recedes from the edges of his eyes, and he turns to focus on Daisy.

“What do we need to do?” he asks, voice low and steady.

“Can the two of you carry him?”

They nod again.

“Good. You need to get him to the surface. Find the car and get out of here. The nearest hospital out of the evacuation zone is Big Pine Memorial? Take him there and don’t look back. If he wakes up, keep him calm. He has time, but _only_ if he keeps breathing slowly. Do you understand?”

“Surface, car, Big Pine. Keep him breathing slow,” Ben repeats. Daisy looks between the two of them, sees the way they calm down now that they have something to do. Moving quickly, she helps them arrange the man between them as they clamber to their feet.

Before they depart, Dwayne calls her over, nearly growling.

“Make sure Gunderson pays for this. He’s hurt too many people to walk away.”

Daisy meets his eyes and recognizes the anger burning in them. She gives him her meanest, wolfiest grin.

“Don’t worry. I’ll rip his heart from his chest myself.”

Satisfied, Dwayne nods in farewell. He and Ben take a moment to navigate the narrow doorway, and then they are gone.

There’s the sound of footsteps behind her, but she doesn’t need to turn and look. She’d recognize the beat of Basira’s heart anywhere. Its steady rhythm and her gentle, earthy scent had meant home and safety for so long that she will never forget them, no matter how much things may change.

“We need to keep moving,” Basira says. “If Jon and Martin make it back, we can deal with them then, but we need to find Gunderson before it’s too late.”

As if on cue, the lights shift to red. Daisy shudders as an alarm blares, painfully loud to her sensitive ears. Even Basira looks pained, which mean the klaxon must be truly earsplitting.

They hurry out to the corridor, where the volume is marginally better. Stevens is waiting for them, and from the looks of it had actually been doing a good job of keeping watch.

He leans forward as they approach, shouting to be heard over the alarm.

“The reactor is this way!” he yells, gesturing broadly down the corridor. “There’s a sign at the end of the hall!”

Daisy squints into the red light, and sure enough, there’s a sign with a massive arrow on it, reading “REACTOR THIS WAY.” It may or may not have been there before, but it feels right, and Daisy doesn’t feel inclined to question their good fortune.

They take off at a run down the corridor. It’s too loud for Daisy to tell if they’re about to run into anyone, but the sound will obscure their footfalls as well, giving them the advantage of surprise. Stevens somehow keeps pace with her easily, but Daisy quickly realizes that Basira is struggling. She slows their pace just slightly, ignoring Basira’s glare when she does so. The prolonged separation from the Archives is taking its toll, and Daisy is certain that Basira’s weakness in the cabin earlier was not the isolated incident that she’d insisted it was.

Thankfully, the signage is obvious, and they reach their destination far sooner than expected. They skid to a stop just within sight of the large double doors marked “CONTROL ROOM. AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY.” The light leaking through the doors flickers alternately green and red, like a nightmarish Christmas tree. Unable to hear or see clearly, they creep forward to peer through the windows.

It’s hard to make out what’s happening at first, but then Gunderson pulls a lever and everything lurches into motion. He’s standing on a catwalk (with railings, Daisy notes) suspended above several metal tanks connected by extensive piping. The lever has set in motion some sort of hydraulic system that seems to be lifting several somethings within the smaller, central tank. Beyond Gunderson, a second person stand in the center of the catwalk. The acid green light radiating from their body makes them difficult to discern, but Daisy’s fairly certain that they’re standing with their arms outstretched, face turned up to where the sky should be.

Next to her, Stevens gasps. “What do we do?”

But Daisy is just as lost as he is. The inner working of what must be a nuclear reactor are not nearly as familiar to her as a crate full of C4. She looks to Basira, watching think through the problem.

“We need to shut the power off.” Basira manages to sound confident, even if she doesn’t look it. “It will trip whatever security fail-safes he’s trying to bypass.”

Her words are enough for Stevens, who nods. “I think the shutoff is up there.”

Daisy follows where he’s pointing, easily picking out the small, shielded room set into the wall a short distance above the catwalk, accessible only by a narrow ladder. There is a safety cage surrounding it, but it won’t be an easy climb. Daisy glances at Basira, who seems to have come to the same conclusion.

“You go on ahead, I’ll keep an eye on Gunderson,” she says, pulling her gun from its holster and doing a quick safety check.

Daisy hesitates, but Basira glares at her.

“Go!”

She runs. Stevens bursts through the door after her, hot on her heels. Gunderson doesn’t notice them, focused entirely on whatever mechanism he’s operating.

Reality _breaks._ It’s only a few meters sprint to the ladder, but they’re some of the hardest steps Daisy has ever had to take. Everything is at once impossibly close and incredibly distant, dying and being born anew with every second. The air is thick and cloying, scraping at the inside of her throat as she breathes. The alarm is so loud that she can feel it reverberate within her chest, and her vision starts to swim. She closes her eyes and lets her feet find their way forward, grabbing Stevens’s hand and dragging him along behind her.

They collide with the bottom rungs of the ladder, and she pushes Stevens up ahead of her. Every fifteenth rung is rougher than the rest, marking each new floor. They pass four of them before Stevens stops, heaving the hatch out of the way before climbing through. Once inside, Daisy opens her eyes. The world is steady in the little room, though there is no sign of disturbance through the plexiglass window.

Directly in front of them sit the shutoff lever, a behemoth of a switch stretching nearly the length of Daisy’s torso. Wordlessly, they grab it, one on each side, and pull. For one terrifying moment, it refuses to budge, but the one of them shifts their weight _just_ enough, and it slams down into place with an almighty clang.

All at once the facility goes dark, all the lights vanishing save a single strip of emergency lighting along the catwalk, but even that is barely visible beyond the sickly light radiating from the glowing figure.

“Jack in the Box Jesus,” Stevens breathes, taking in the scene below them. As high up as they are, it is easy to see the massive metal rods slowly sliding back into the central tank. Gunderson yells something, and the glowing figure rushes forwards, slapping a hand down on an exposed electrical panel. It’s so brief that Daisy nearly misses it, but just before their hand touches down, a spark leaps from them to the panel. Part of the machinery lurches back to life, and a set of what can only be magnets drop a short distance before latching on to the rods and starting to haul them back up again.

“What do we do?” Stevens asks, turning to her with desperation in his eyes.

But Daisy doesn’t respond. There’s nothing they can do, not from where they are. Gunderson is too close, the glowing figure too far, too obscured. It’s out of their hands.

She sees Basira move behind the door and looks to the other two, running trajectory calculations in her head. But there’s only one way that this can end, and she sees Basira realize it too. Daisy’s not altogether surprised that it would come to this, but somehow, she’d always thought that she’d be the first to go.

Basira shoves the door open, takes three steps forwards, one, two, three, until she’s no longer sheltered by the door. Her gun is up now, the glowing figure in its sights. She fires two shots, one after the other. They slam home into the figure’s chest, and they stumble, fall off the catwalk to crash onto the floor below. As they fall, the light radiating from them passes over Basira, and she shudders, going down on one knee.

Gunderson can’t hear the gunshots, but he does see the figure drop. He turns and sees Basira, his hand dropping to the gun at his hip. Basira recovers quickly, but it’s too late. Gunderson fires six shots, emptying his gun. Basira falls lifeless to the floor.

Behind Gunderson, the hydraulics grind to a halt and the electromagnets release, allowing the rods to slide back into the tank. Insensate, Gunderson howls, but it’s finished. The ritual is ruined.

Daisy takes advantage of his distraction, slips out of the hatch to the control room. The world is steady again, and it’s an easy leap from the ladder to the catwalk below. She creeps silently forward, though Gunderson is so focused on his failure that she probably needn’t have bothered. She’s so close that she can smell the poison on him, the acrid stench of chemicals and dead flesh. She thinks, for a moment, of toying with him, of allowing him to know that death is coming, but he’s not worth the effort.

She unsheathes her claws and buries her hand in his unprotected back. His heart only has time to beat twice in her hand before she tears it from his body. He collapses like a puppet with cut strings, and she drop the heart on top of him. Grimacing, she tears off his bandanna and wipes the blood off her hand as best she can before it starts to turn sticky.

Stevens rushes up behind her, clattering noisily over the catwalk.

“Are you alright?” he asks, carefully avoiding looking at Gunderson’s body.

Daisy considers the question. They succeeded. The ritual failed, and Gunderson is dead. The Extinction has been set back by hundreds of years.

Basira is dead too. She can’t hurt anyone else. But she won’t ever wrap Daisy in her arms again, won’t cling to her in the night when the dreams come. But neither of those things has happened in a long time, and Daisy is already well-versed in missing them.

“I will be,” she says, and knows it is the truth.

An odd echo of a wave crashing on a beach pulls at the corner of her senses, and she looks beyond Stevens to see Jon and Martin step out of the Lonely, hand in hand. Jon looks over and sees her, sees the body crumpled on the catwalk behind her and blanches, turning to burry his face in Martin’s chest.

“What happened?” asks Martin, his eyes wide as he takes in the scene. “Where are the others?”

“It’s over,” Daisy answers bluntly.

Sammy steps forward, gently herding Martin and Jon back towards the ladder. Daisy half-listens to him explain what happened, but truth be told her heart’s not in it. He seems to be doing a fine job anyway, recalling events with far more clarity than Daisy would have guessed.

None of the three of them react when they pass Basira’s body, but she supposes she doesn’t blame them. She waits, letting them get a little further ahead before bending down and unclasping the small daisy charm bracelet from around Basira’s left wrist and slipping it into her pocket.

“Be at peace,” she whispers, then rises to her feet and leaves the room. To her surprise, Jon is waiting for her on the other side of the door, though Martin is right behind him. He doesn’t say anything, just gives her hand a squeeze. Together, they turn and start walking towards the surface.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And everything starts to come together. Thanks to everyone who has stuck with me this far! It's been a real journey, and I appreciate that you have all stayed.
> 
> Next week: a revelation
> 
> CW: graphic description of injuries and violence, gore, gun violence, death, nuclear disasters


	25. The Thing with Feathers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You’re not shivering just because of whatever shit the Lonely has going on, it’s actually cold out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wonder what could possibly happen in the next two chapters
> 
> This chapter: another conversation in a car, because apparently that's a theme I have going now. 
> 
> CW in the end notes

By the time Jon finishes helping an exhausted Martin into the backseat of the van, Daisy is already at the wheel. He frowns, uncomfortable for a reason he can’t define, but climbs in after Martin regardless. Sammy’s already in the passenger seat, his eyes just as glued to his phone as they have been since they’d left the complex.

Martin’s asleep moments later, his head lolling against Jon’s shoulder. Jon would be worried if he hadn’t seen the look in Martin’s eyes when they escaped the Lonely. Sure, he’d put on a good face, but there had been no hiding the fatigue in his eyes. They must have made an odd sight, Martin leaning on Jon for support despite their height difference.

The last bits of the Lonely still cling to Martin like a pernicious fog, and Jon shivers. Martin’s skin is warm where they touch but not at any distance, and Jon is still only in his vest and trousers. The chill had been manageable while they were walking, but it burrows into Jon now that they’re still.

He hears a sigh from the front seat, and a bundle of cloth appears in Jon’s lap. He looks up, started, to see Sammy staring back at him.

“Put it on,” Sammy says, gesturing at what Jon now recognizes as the flannel shirt Sammy had been wearing earlier. “You’re not shivering just because of whatever shit the Lonely has going on, it’s actually cold out.”

“Thanks,” Jon murmurs, shrugging it on carefully so as not to wake Martin. Then he remembers _why_ he was without a shirt, and he looks cautiously between Sammy and Daisy, trying to gauge the atmosphere. For all that Sammy’s been glued to his phone, he seems fairly calm, all things considered. Daisy’s tense mood is belied only by a white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel, but she gives off an impression more of fatigue than anger. It should be safe enough to ask a question, provided that he phrases it carefully.

He clears his throat softly, sees Daisy’s eyes flick towards his in the rearview mirror. “I – I would like to know what happened after I left. If you’re willing, that is.”

Jon has to fight the urge to withdraw when Sammy immediately stiffens and glances warily between him and Daisy, but Daisy’s deliberate calm doesn’t waver when she responds.

“Sure. But first, what happened to the two of you? Is Martin alright?”

Jon shrugs. “Peter Lukas is dead.”

That gets a reaction from Daisy, even if it is only a satisfied huff and a muttered “_Good_.”

“It wasn’t… the Lonely was bad. Martin will be better with some rest.” Daisy seems willing enough to talk, and Jon is quite sure that the burning desire to know whether or not Kirk is alright is entirely separate from the Beholding. He takes a breath, reiterates his question.

“What happened to the others?”

“Ben and Dwayne took Kirk to hospital. It was close, but Ben said he went into surgery just as we were leaving the building.”

“Is he…”

Daisy does frown at him this time, glaring worriedly back at him.

“Can’t you just _know_ that?”

Pulling Sammy’s shirt closer around himself, Jon looks away. “Ah, no. It’s been _selective_ recently. I haven’t been dreaming either.”

“You seem alright for not having fed the Eye in a week.”

Jon shifts uncomfortably. “I… wasn’t. I don’t know that I would have lasted much longer if Kirk hasn’t given me his statement.”

Martin’s head slips off his shoulder as they round a corner, and Jon carefully rights it. It is the perfect excuse to not look at Daisy, to avoid the disappointment that he is sure will be written on her face. To his surprise, Daisy doesn’t press him on it, shifting instead to talk about Kirk.

“What happened to him? Did Gunderson do all that?”

Daisy says it so casually, but it must mean something to Sammy because he angrily shoves his phone away and turns to glare at the two of them.

“You guys want to go back to speaking English? Or are you just going to keep leaving me out of the discussion?”

“What?” Daisy splutters, obviously confused, but Jon just sighs wearily.

“I’m sorry. It wasn’t intentional. The Beholding just does that, sometimes.”

The corners of Sammy’s mouth turn down, but he seems somewhat mollified. “What language even was that, anyway?”

Jon shrugs. “Welsh, maybe. Daisy doesn’t know much, but, well, _knowing_ is relative around me. She was just asking if Gunderson was the one who hurt Kirk.”

“And did he?” Sammy doesn’t bother to put any inflection behind the question, apparently already sure of the answer.

There’s no point in softening it, so Jon doesn’t. “Yeah, probably. Gunderson caught Kirk hiding food to bring back to me, and that was that. I don’t know if Kirk tried it a second time or not, but the next time he came back from his meal it wasn’t under his own power. Gunderson seemed to take a _particular _exception to him.”

“He would,” Sammy mutters darkly, turning away. Jon knows better than to ask what he means, but the Beholding decides to supply him the knowledge anyway. In a blink the van fades away, and he finds himself looking at what must be the broadcast studio of King Falls AM. Ben sits carefully in a chair on the other side of the room, as far away from the desk as he can be. On the near side of the desk, Gunderson looms over Sammy, one hand braced on the desk, the other hovering near his hip where the popper for his gun has been left conspicuously open, and the words _“your kind”_ are dripping venomously from his mouth.

And then the image is gone, leaving no more than a memory and bitter aftertaste of fear in Jon’s mouth. He swallows it down, angry at himself for having so desperately wished for the Beholding’s presence below the Science Institute. What little benefit he gains isn’t worth the price.

It makes a twisted sort of sense, that an avatar of such a human fear as the Extinction would also have such human prejudices. What that says about the Beholding, he’s not entire sure. Very likely something unpleasant, which seems to be the trend these days.

Jon shoves his thoughts away and takes a moment to breath in Martin’s scent, shifting to sit just a little bit closer. Martin mumbles something half-formed and nuzzles into the crook of Jon’s neck. It’s… good, being near him. But he can’t ignore what’s happening forever, and eventually he looks back up to Daisy.

“How did you stop the ritual?” Jon makes sure to speak in English this time, though truth be told he’s not sure he could tell the difference anymore. At least the Beholding is still sated enough from Peter that he doesn’t even have to try very hard to keep any compulsion out of it.

Daisy stills, though she still keeps a careful eye on the road. “We shut down the nuclear reactor. That glowing creature almost got it going again, but Basira neutralized it before it was too late.” She doesn’t say how Basira died, and Jon doesn’t ask.

The Beholding gleefully shows him anyway.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

The muscles in Daisy’s jaw tighten. It could be frustration, though it looks a lot like anger. “Stop, Jon.”

Jon does not stop. “I know you were close, and-“

She doesn’t let him get any further than that, cutting him off sternly. “Yes, Jon, we _were_ close. But that’s just it. We were everything to one another, once. But that brought nothing but hurt, to us and to others. For fuck’s sake, I nearly killed you, Jon. Twice. But then the Unknowing happened, and we changed. I started getting better, and she… she got worse. I saw how she treated you, Jon. It took me far, far too long to do anything about it, and I’m sorry for that, but you have to understand that she was wrong. You may not be strictly human anymore, but that doesn’t make you a monster. You deserve to live, you deserve to be happy, to come to someone who cares deeply about you regardless of the exact nature of your relationship. You matter, Jon.” Her voice stays quiet and even throughout the whole thing, driving home her point with precision.

Jon turns and buries his face in Martin’s curls. It hurts to think too much about Daisy’s words, so he doesn’t, but he does smile at the little blossom of hope unfurling in his chest. He takes a moment, breathes in, breathes out.

“Thank you,” he whispers. It’s barely audible, but he knows she’ll hear him anyway.

Sammy must hear it too, and he shifts in the front seat. “You’re a good guy, Jon,” he offers. “It’s obvious how much you care about other people. Take some time and care for yourself, okay? You’re welcome at the cabin for as long as you need.” His phone buzzes, and Sammy scrambles to pull it from his pocket. Jon looks up just in time to see his shoulders relax.

“New message from Ben. They just got an update from the surgeon, and Kirk should pull through just fine.”

The relief in the car is palpable, and Jon feels that blossom of hope uncurl just a little bit more. It has been so, so long since he’s felt anything like it that he can’t help but smile again. They’d saved the world, and now they have a moment’s rest before needing to push on. He muffles a small laugh, smiling behind his hand and Martin’s hair. For just a moment, everything is going to be okay.

If only it could last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from Emily Dickinson's "'Hope' is the thing with feathers"
> 
> Next chapter (the final story chapter) should be out Monday or Tuesday, and the epilogue will be out Wednesday or Thursday. I'll do my best to have it out before the new season starts but I can't promise anything.
> 
> The scene Jon sees is from the last 10-15 minutes of episode 73 of KFAM, in which Gunderson demonstrates just how reprehensible of a human being he is.
> 
> Thank you all for reading!! 
> 
> Next chapter: the reckoning that was supposed to start at the end of this chapter but has been pushed to next week because Reasons
> 
> CW: mentions of past abuse, brief image of a past threat of violence motivated by homophobia, discussions of death


	26. The Uninvited Guest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon should have seen this coming, should have known that their good luck wouldn’t hold. But he wasn’t the first one through the door, and by then it was too late.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter: a conclusion
> 
> See End Notes for CW

Elias is waiting for them back at the cabin.

Jon should have seen this coming, should have known that their good luck wouldn’t hold. But he wasn’t the first one through the door, and by then it was too late.

Sammy’s the one who enters the room first, but he doesn’t recognize the danger, doesn’t know any better than to freeze and stare. Martin enters next, and it’s not until he goes from half-asleep to vibrating with fury in the blink of an eye that Jon realizes that anything is wrong.

Jon at least has the wherewithal to shut the door behind them. It’s a foolish hope, to think that this would hide Daisy from Elias or that it would give them any element of surprise, but then again, he’s never been very wise.

Elias doesn’t do anything, at first. He just stands there in his understated Gieves & Hawkes three-piece suit, unaware and uncaring of how utterly out of place he is as he stares down his nose at them. He smiles warmly, and speaks.

“Hello, Jon.”

Jon opens his mouth to respond, but Martin cuts him off, shoving him back and glaring at Elias.

“What do you want?”

Martin does a good job of keeping his voice steady, but Jon knows that his anger is only a mask plastered over the fear underneath. He shifts forward just slightly and rests a comforting hand on the small of Martin’s back.

Elias smirks like the cat that ate the canary.

“Oh, Martin. Always so suspicious of kindness. I was only going to congratulate you on a job well done.”

Crossing his arms, Martin growls, “Either stop lying, or _get out_.” Fog from the Lonely rolls off of him in waves, causing everyone else in the room to shiver as the temperature plummets, but Elias seems unaffected.

“You’ll have to try harder than that. You will remember that I have been sparring with Peter for years.”

At that, Jon’s eyes narrow and flick to the thin gold band Elias is absently rotating around his left ring finger. It looks plain from a distance, but Jon Knows that it is, in fact, patterned after two intertwined lengths of rope.

He steps forward, around Martin, and levels all his now considerable strength at Elias.

“_What do you want?_”

Elias gives a satisfied shiver and raises an eyebrow. If it weren’t for Jon’s focus on the ring, he might have missed the way Elias’s hands start to tremble, ever so slightly. Jon grits his teeth and doubles down on the compulsion.

“I have one last statement for you, Jon”

“I’m not taking any more statements.” Despite Jon’s best efforts, the declaration sounds hollow, even to his own ears.

Elias’s grin widens. “Oh, I think you’ll want to take this one.” He spreads his hands wide in invitation, and all of a sudden Jon is gripped by the Beholding. The urge is stronger than Jon can ever remember it being, even when he was starving, and its only Martin’s arm suddenly snaking around his chest that keeps him from collapsing to his knees at the sudden onslaught.

“Statement of Jonah Magnus, concerning Jonathan Sims.”

A distant part of Jon is viciously delighted at having his suspicions about Elias proven correct, but the rest of him is so viscerally terrified by the drive to feed on Elias’s – _Jonah’s_ statement that he has barely a moment to register it before the thought is torn from his mind.

Jonah starts to speak, and the world around them begins to fade away. Jon clings to Martin, trying to anchor himself in the familiar touch, but his efforts are in vain. Sound becomes muffled, the light dims – except for a weird bright spot near one of the bedrooms. He sees a man behind Elias, slowly emerging from the back of the lodge. He’s tall, perhaps was athletic once, with dark skin and darker hair. He creeps forward, his head cocked at an angle Jon initially thinks is odd until he realizes that the man has no eyes and is listening for Elias instead.

Elias, noticing Jon’s wavering attention, pauses and starts to look behind him, but it’s too late. The man springs forward, the knife in his hand sinking under Jonah’s ribs and up. Jonah freezes, stunned, and then Jon feels nothing but pain.

****************

Sammy doesn’t notice Jack at first, doesn’t see him until he’s less than five feet away from the stranger. It’s the man who had called to warn him about Ben, he’s sure of it. But somehow he’s also Jon’s horrible boss, and right now Jon is not okay. Sammy has only seen him take a statement once before, and as horrifying as that had been, it had looked nothing like this. As soon as the man had started speaking Jon had collapsed, sagging in Martin’s arms, his eyes glazed over.

It was a twitch of Jon’s’ eyes that had alerted him to Jack, and now Sammy has to fight not to stare himself. He doesn’t know what Jack is trying to do, let alone why, but it is abundantly clear that he is trying to move unnoticed.

Something must give him away, though, because the stranger pauses, then starts to turn.

With agility honed for years on the rugby pitch, Jack rushes forwards and plunges a knife into the man’s chest. The man stops talking, stunned, as he looks at Jack with wide eyes.

“You always did like the sound of your own voice,” Jack snarls, and he yanks the knife free. The man’s mouth opens and closes wordlessly, gaping like a fish, as he sinks to his knees. One hand comes up to the blood rapidly seeping through his stomach while the other paws uselessly in Jack’s direction. The movement overbalances him, and he wobbles unsteadily before collapsing.

Behind Sammy, an inhuman scream rips from Jon’s throat. Daisy bursts through the door, takes one look at the man on the floor, and rushes over to Jon.

Cautiously, Sammy picks his way across the living room. Jack is sitting down now, his back braced against the wall and the bloody knife hanging loosely in one hand.

“Hey,” Sammy says, just loud enough to be heard over the commotion behind him. “Jack, can you hear me?”

Jack’s head jerks up, as if he has just remembered that Sammy is there.

“Is he dead?” Jack croaks.

Sammy turns to look, and, as he watches, the man breathes his last and stills. His eyes stay open, fixed unseeing on the ceiling.

“Yeah,” Sammy breathes, overwhelmed. “He’s dead.”

The knife clatters to the floor, and Jack buries his head in his hands.

“_Fuck_,” he gasps. “It’s actually done. Oh my God, I can’t believe he’s actually gone.”

Sammy needs to be right next to him, right now, but he forces himself to slowly scoot over near him.

“Can I hug you?” he asks, silently begging Jack to say yes.

“Yes, please,” Jack gasps, sagging into Sammy’s arms when they are thrown around him and returning his grip just as fiercely.

“Who was he?” The pieces are starting to fall together, but that doesn’t make it any easier to hear when Jack starts to talk.

“My – my father, or at least as good as, if you’ll believe it. He wanted to end the world.” Jack sobs into Sammy’s shoulder, and Sammy just hugs him tighter.

“It’s all over now. You’ve stopped him,” he murmurs.

Jack takes a shuddering breath and continues. “He used to talk to me, you know. A-after they took my eyes. He couldn’t see me, but he could send others, give them messages for me. The Shadowmaker let him – he’d feed on the messengers afterwards, and I think he liked how afraid they made me. At first, I thought the man was just taunting me, reveling in the irony of one of his progenies being blinded by the Dark, but then he started talking about the ritual, about Jon, and I knew it was something deeper. I only ever had one other messenger, a girl named Debbie who was sent by Gertrude Robinson, but the Shadowmaker took her before we could talk. I never did find out what he wanted with me.”

“I’m so sorry,” Sammy murmurs, drawing back slightly to brush the tears from Jack’s face. “I would have helped if I could. You shouldn’t have had to do this alone.”

“I know,” Jack says with a small smile. “But it wasn’t safe to say anything. He couldn’t watch me anymore, not after I lost my eyes, but he was sure to be watching all of you. If he knew that I was planning to stop him, then I’d never have managed it.” Jack pauses to take a deep breath, rolling his shoulders and settling back into himself. “How – how is Jon?”

Sammy looks back over his shoulder. Jon is no longer screaming and has curled himself into Martin’s lap, though he’s still crying softly. As Sammy watches, Martin runs his hands through Jon’s hair and murmurs tenderly while Daisy stands guard over them both.

“I think he’s going to be okay,” Sammy replies.

Jack nods. “Good. As strongly as he was tied to Jonah, his bond to the Eye was stronger still, so he should pull through.

“You seem to know an awful lot about these people.”

Jack’s face darkens, and Sammy instantly regrets the question. He’s still floundering for what to say in apology when Jack sighs and clasps him on the shoulder.

“Can we go outside? I’d like to feel the sun.”

Immediately, Sammy scrambles to his feet, giving Jack a hand pull himself up with. Jack wobbles a bit, but he seems steady enough to walk. Daisy gives them a thankful nod as they pass, then turns back to her friends.

Sammy guides Jack out into the yard, and they settle under the old apple tree, nestled together with their heads on each other’s shoulders.

“I love you,” Sammy whispers, giving Jack’s hand a squeeze.

Above them the clouds break, allowing the soft morning light to fall down upon them, enveloping them in its warmth.

Jack returns the squeeze and wriggles closer.

“I love you, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading! There is still one more chapter to come, an epilogue that will be out sometime before S5 drops. Please let me know in the comments what you think! I’m a bit busy at the moment but I promise I’ll respond to them when I get the time :)
> 
> We finally figure out why Jack was being so cagey earlier!
> 
> Next chapter: Jon and Martin make a Friend
> 
> CW: violence, death, blood, discussion of past trauma including captivity and stalking


	27. When the Battle Has Done

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon takes a deep breath. “I just… I need to know one thing, Martin.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO! I come bearing fluff :) Whether you have listened to the start of season five and need some comfort fluff (i wouldn't know, i haven't listened yet) or if you need something to bolster your spirits before you listen tomorrow, may I offer this little morsel for your enjoyment.
> 
> This chapter: A Friend, and a Gift
> 
> CW in the end notes

The afternoon sun is warm, just enough to offset the chill wind that occasionally cuts through the lakeside park. Martin takes a deep breath, the crisp air filling his lungs in way that the fog of the Lonely never could. Next to him, Jon sighs and tosses a small bunch of pine needles into the water.

“Have you considered Sammy and Ben’s offer?”

Martin deliberately pitches the words gentle and quiet, but Jon still startles. He doesn’t turn to look at Martin, though, just continues to stare out over the water.

“I – I think I want to. Stay, that is. At least until the wedding.”

Oh. Right. Martin still hasn’t really met Dwayne or Kirk, not properly at least. But they hadn’t even made it out of the hospital before Jon had been invited to the wedding, and Kirk was adamant that Jon and Martin attend. It’s a month away, but Sammy and Ben had insisted that they were welcome to stay, either in their place or in Herschel’s cabin. The idea… actually seems kind of nice, now. They’d fallen together so quickly that it would be good to take some time, actually figure out how to be around each other rather than just pining from a distance. This thing between them is still so new that Martin can’t help but consider it fragile, even if it feels the farthest thing from it.

The people of King Falls had been more than welcoming, too, once the town had been deemed safe to return to. Old Man Libbydale himself had invited them over for dinner, and Martin had somehow ended up agreeing to help out with chores on the farm during calving season if they’re somehow still around in a few months’ time.

But that isn’t the question Martin had asked, and both of them know it. Staying for the wedding had never been up for debate, not really. Martin waits, giving Jon time for formulate his answer.

Jon takes a deep breath. “I just… I need to know one thing, Martin.”

Martin’s heart races in his chest.

“Do you want to go back, after?”

The answer sticks in Martin’s throat. It’s ridiculous, how one word can be just as terrifying as an eldritch entity bent on destroying the world. Martin knows what he wants to say, has for a while now, but knowing it doesn’t make it any easier. Martin straightens his shoulders, bracing himself.

“No.”

The word reverberates in the air as Jon turns to look at him, revealing a shaky, relieved grin.

“I – good. That’s good.” Jon relaxes, the tension draining from his shoulders. “We have the chance to do real good here, I think.”

Martin takes all his stress, wads it up into a little ball, and enthusiastically imagines chucking it out over the lake. As soon as Sammy made the offer Martin had wanted to accept, but there was no way he was going to push Jon to decide one way or the other before he was ready.

“It’ll be nice to be just a librarian, yeah?” Martin asks with a grin.

Jon playfully nudges his shoulder. “Yes, Martin, it will be. This town has been without a functioning library for long enough, and it seems like you and I are the only ones around with the right qualifications.” Jon sobers a bit at the end, but he tries to keep the mood up. “Besides, you and Daisy are my only ties to London left. Other than Melanie and Georgie, that is, but I’m certain they’d much rather I be happy here than go back to London and make myself miserable again.”

“So Daisy’s staying too, then?”

Jon immediately turns awkward, and Martin tries very hard to be amused rather than worried. This gets distinctly more difficult the longer Jon waits to respond, though Martin does his best not to panic.

“There’s a, uh… a local werewolf pack?”

Yup, that’s fine, Martin can deal with this sudden new information, yes he can. What’s one more monster legend that turns out to have grains of truth in it on top of the others, anyway?

Oblivious to Martin’s internal struggle, Jon plows on. “She ran with them during the full moon, and I’m fairly certain they’ve all but adopted her.”

Martin must make a noise, because Jon’s head whips around.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that, Martin. I was worried about the Hunt, too. But she says it helps, and I’m doing my best to believe people when they tell me things, these days.”

“That’s – that’s good, then.”

“Quite.” Jon looks as if he wants to say more, but something out on the lake catches his attention. Martin follows his gaze out, peering into the shadows by the far bank.

Then he sees it, a flash of movement under the water, just for a moment. There’s something out there, something _big_. Martin stumbles to his feet, trying to tug Jon after him, but the stubborn man refuses to budge.

“Jon, we have to go! Something’s out there!” Martin insists, crouching down in order to scoop him up if he still refuses to move, but Jon leans forward and lays a hand on Martin’s arm.

“Wait. She wants to say hello.”

“Say hello? Jon, what?” Martin gives Jon another tug, and then makes the mistake of looking out at the lake.

The thing isn’t bothering to hide anymore, cutting a path through the water right at them. A bit of it – maybe its head? – crests the water, a sleek, scaly arrowhead with bright eyes.

“Oh my god,” Martin gasps as the creature suddenly rises from the water, towering above them. He stumbles backwards and trips when Jon doesn’t let go of his arm.

The leviathan slowly lowers its head, and Martin stares up at it, flat on his back. Slowly, gently, she opens her gigantic maw, deposits a shapeless mass on the dock near Martin’s feet, and nudges it towards him. Martin gapes at her in shock, but Jon just laughs and reaches forwards to scratch the creature on the underside of her jaw.

“Hello, Kingsie.”

The creature tilts her head to lean into the scratch, and Jon laughs. Honest-to-goodness laughs, in a way that Martin hasn’t heard in… a long time. “Go on, Martin,” he says, gesturing at the lump with his free hand. “I believe she brought you a gift.”

Very, very carefully, Martin sits up and reaches forward. The lump has lost any structure it may have once had, and Martin holds it gingerly between two fingers as he inspects it.

At first, it appears to be a nothing more than a formless hunk of wool, but then a metallic glint catches his eye. He peers closer and can just barely make out the letters _TUNDRA_ embroidered in fine, gold thread.

He drops the hat and stumbles back. “What – what is this? Jon, what does this _mean_?”

Jon immediately looks contrite. “I’m sorry, Martin, I should have thought better than to spring this on you. It’s – proof. I know you don’t remember what happened in the Lonely, but the _Tundra_ went down three days ago just off the coast of Alaska. All hands were lost. The authorities haven’t quite been able to figure out exactly what happened, but her last recorded radio transmission, ah, mentioned some sort of kraken.”

Martin watches, open-mouthed, as Kingsie lowers her head to rest on the end of the dock and stares up at him. Her eyes alone are the size of dinner plates, and her head is easily as large as Martin’s entire body. Slowly, he reaches forward and rests a hand on her snout. Her scales are surprisingly warm beneath his palm, and he laughs in surprise when she huffs at him and slowly blinks her eyes.

“Thank you,” Martin says, entirely serious, and then promptly has to suppress a shiver as Kingsie grins toothily at him.

After a moment that is, in his opinion, entirely too long, Martin removes his hand and steps back. Kingsie opens one eyes, and with a cheeky wink, performs a reality-defying backwards twist off the dock and splashes down into the lake.

Both Jon and Martin are positively drenched, but Kingsie just flicks a cheerful fin at them before diving back down.

“I’m still not entirely sure what just happened,” Martin mutters, halfheartedly wringing some of the water from his jumper. Jon awkwardly clambers to his feet and attempts, far more successfully, to do the same.

“You made a friend, Martin. A rare enough thing, in our line of work.”

“Not our work any longer, though. It’s only libraries for us now, from here on out.”

Rather than respond, Jon quickly tucks himself under Martin’s arm, attempting to take advantage of his body heat. Their wet clothes do little to block the wind, however, and they soon find themselves shifting back towards the shore.

“So,” Jon says, his teeth not quite chattering. “Shall we, then? Together?”

Martin buries his grin in Jon’s hair.

“Together,” he replies, and off they walk, arm in arm, in search of their friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The End! 
> 
> Kingsie is 10/10, good friend, would recommend 
> 
> A HUGE thank you to everyone who stuck through this with me, I really appreciate it! This is the first writing on this scale that I have attempted in a very long while, and while there are certainly things I would do differently, I'm pretty happy with how it turned out :) 
> 
> Additionally, while this story is over, I don't think I'm entirely ready to hang up my hat on this world. So if there's anything else you guys want to see, drop it in the comments and I'll potentially pick it up when my life calms back down! 
> 
> And again, from the bottom of my heart, thank you to everyone who left comments or kudos or even just a thought upon the breeze. You folks have all been marvelously encouraging and I never would have finished this without you.
> 
> CW:major life decisions, mentions of a shipwreck, past character death mention


End file.
